I did so and, after we had started off again, I naturally asked where we were going and why. He told me that Big Bear had released the Maclean family and we were going out to find them. Might as well look for a needle in a haystack in that immense tract, but the Major had an idea of their whereabouts, and so we struck for Loon Lake, on reaching which we found in camp about as tough a looking crowd as ever you saw. Unwashed, unkempt, with tattered clothing and little food, there they all were, the twenty-two prisoners who had been allowed, when provisions ran short, to escape from Big Bear’s camp—the Maclean family, father and mother and nine children, Amelia and Eliza being young ladies of 18 and 16 years of age, Kitty being 14, and the others ranging from 12 years to an infant in arms; and George Mann, farm instructor at Frog Lake, his wife and three children, Stanley Simpson and other employees of the Hudson’s Bay Co. at Fort Pitt, Frog Lake and Onion Lake. For once, somebody was mighty glad to see me, and more glad to see Major Bedson, who was a brother-in-law of Maclean. That staunch old Westerner, Major Hayter Reed, who did splendid service during the uprising, came up with supplies and clothes, and when they arrived and the freed captives had donned their new habiliments, and washed up and eaten the first square meal for a long time, the transformation was complete. Sam Steele came too. After all their trekking through wild lands and swamps with little food, here were freedom and liberty and friends. I shall never forget that memorable 21st June—the longest day of the year—when W. J. Maclean, the father, commonly known as Big Bear Maclean, and I trudged along the trail, and he told me the story of their wanderings. They had never been ill-treated, some kindly disposed half-breeds guarding them, but once, at Loon Lake, the squaws whose husbands or sons had been killed wanted to slaughter them, but they were prevented. The only one to complain was Stanley Simpson (who afterwards was accidentally drowned) who confidentially informed me that boiled dog as a regular article of diet was a fraud, a delusion and a sham. What was a delicacy to the red man was sickening to him, and between dog and starvation, the latter was largely preferable in his humble opinion. However the sun was shining brightly and everybody was joyful and happy. And no wonder, after the days and weeks of terror and hardship which they had endured. We reached Fort Pitt in safety, after a long wearisome trip, most of which we had to tramp or ride in rude, jolting, springless wagons. There was no complaint, no grumbling, no post mortems, and motherly Mrs. Maclean, I could see, silently thanked God for their happy deliverance.