She passed the winter with her two young ones, no human aid at hand.  On the return of spring she set off, intending to rejoin her husband's people far away to the westward.  After enduring incredible hardships, she had been compelled to kill her horse for food.  She had made good some days' journey, when, almost sinking from hunger, and fearing to see her children perish, she caught sight of her relentless foes, the Blackfeet.  In vain she endeavoured to conceal herself.  They saw her and were approaching, when, close to the spot where she was standing, a tall white man and several Indians suddenly emerged from behind some rocks.  The Blackfeet came on, fancying that against so few they could gain an easy victory; but the rifles of the white man and his party drove them back, and Uncle Donald--for he was the white man--conveyed the apparently dying woman and her little ones to his camp.