Who was Albert Johnson?

Sensing the story of the decade, newspapers reporters began to ask: Who was Albert Johnson? Where did he come from? What took him north and what brought on his duel with the police?

            They called him The Mad Trapper of Rat River, described him as ‘crazed’, ‘demented’, driven mad by ‘cabin fever’.

            Despite what the newspapers said, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police knew that Johnson was not a ‘demented trapper’. Inspector Eames, head of the search for Johnson, said: ‘On the contrary, he showed himself to be an extremely shrewd and resolute man, capable of quick thought and action. A tough and desperate character.’

            The decade was the 1930s. The story became prominent in the Canadian press and beyond as a relief from news of the world-wide depression. In July 9^th, 1931, a newcomer calling himself Albert Johnson arrived at a post known as the Arctic Red River. Part of the job of the RCMP was to check on all newcomers to the region. The depression had resulted in a great many men leaving civilization, as such, behind, and heading into the wilderness with dreams of becoming self-sufficient and living off the land. Most of them were ill-equipped and ill-prepared. They knew nothing of trapping, of how to build a cabin, and how to survive in sub-zero arctic condition for a long winter. A Police Constable would talk with them, assess their abilities and the practicality of their plans. Many arrived without money to buy equipment or supplies and were discouraged from settling, however briefly. Johnson, though, was not of their like. He knew what he was doing and had money to replace his gear, which he said he had lost. He was told he’d need to apply for a licence to trap and the constable left. Before returning to his headquarters, he checked at the local Northern Traders store. Johnson had bought a 16-gauge single barrel shotgun and shells. He had also bought supplies from the Hudson’s Bay post.

            The man who spoke to Johnson was Constable Edgar Millen who was 31 years-old. He had joined the Mounted Police eleven years earlier and was an experienced and capable man. He described Johnson as being around 40 years old, 5 ft. 7 to 5-8, about 11 stone in weight, with blue eyes and brown hair. He spoke little and to the point. The clerks Johnson had dealt with at the trading posts also said he spoke little and said nothing about his past or his immediate plans.

            Despite his taciturn nature, Johnson aroused no suspicions and was left to his own devices. The north was a place were a man who wanted to be left alone would be left alone. So long as he bothered no one else no one bothered him. The trouble began when some Indians reported that Johnson had removed their traps. He had, it seemed, found them placed near his own, objected, and thrown them over the branch of a tree. The complaint had to be investigated. In late December, two constables made the 70-mile journey to talk to Johnson about the traps and to make sure he had his trapper’s licence. Arriving at his cabin, they saw his snowshoes beside the door and smoke rising from his chimney. They knocked. There was no answer. They knew Johnson was inside and, for an hour, tried to persuade to open the door. His behaviour was very unusual for the area. This was a land were doors were never locked and travellers were welcome and certain courtesies traditionally extended. It was a place were people minded their own business but extended help when it was needed. There was a practical side to the generosity – they might be in need of help and shelter themselves someday. The police left and reported the incident.

            A warrant was issued and four constables arrived at Johnson’s cabin on the morning of New Year’s Eve. Again, they saw the smoke and the snowshoes. Constable A W King knocked on the door. A shot was fired through the door and Constable King fell to the ground with a bullet in his chest. The other constables opened fire. Johnson returned fire. King was not dead and managed to drag himself to a clump of trees. His condition was serious and the others put him on a sledge and raced for medical help. Constable King survived. He said afterwards; ‘All I wanted to tell him was to leave the Indians’ traps alone. Then all he had to do was get a trapper’s licence and he was all set.’

            The first thought of the officers was that Johnson was suffering ‘cabin fever,’ the mental illness occasionally brought on by living for months in isolation, darkness and sub-zero temperatures. But Inspector Eames had the growing conviction formed of long experience that Johnson actions indicated an intense hatred of the police. He led a party of six men to Johnson’s cabin. Constable Millen was to meet the posse at a post on the way as he was the only had met Johnson and knew what he looked like. The constables who had previously visited Johnson also noticed that his cabin was very solidly built. The door was only large enough for him to enter and beside it was a small window. It was described later as ‘fort-like’.  The walls were 5 ft high on one side and 4ft on the other to allow for a sloping roof which, in turn, was covered with 2 ft of dirt. Three side of the cabin were covered by the bend of the river, the fourth side, facing an open clearing and been built with a double wall. Inside the cabin, Johnson had dug down 3 ft into the ground. Knowing how secure the building was, the Mounties brought dynamite. The problems for the RCMP intensified when the temperature dropped to 40 below zero. On January the 8^th, they arrived at Johnson’s cabin. He was still there. Why? He must surely have realised that after shooting a constable and firing at the others a posse would be sent after him. He’d had eight full days to leave. Since their last visit, Johnson had cut low rifle-slits into his cabin. He could cover every approach and, due to the size of his cabin – no more than 8 ft by 12 – he could move quickly to whichever direction he need to fire from.

            Inspector Eames called for Johnson to surrender. There was reply. The six constables began firing from different sides to distract Johnson while they took turns running at the cabin and attempting to batter down the door with rifle butts. The door was finally jarred loose and the constables saw Johnson crouching in the hole he had dug. He turned to fire at them with what they thought were automatic pistols. What he actually used was his shotgun and a .22 rifle which he had sawn off the barrels and the butts and was using as short-range weapons. Eames gave the order to use the dynamite. But first it had to be defrosted. When thrown towards the cabin, most failed to explode and those that did caused little damage to the firm walls. Finally, a large charge was thrown on the roof. The explosion created a small hole in the roof and blew off the chimney. Johnson continued to return fire.

            Inspector Eames decided on one last attempt in the early hours of the morning. His men were suffering from the cold and lack of sleep. He used all of what was left of the dynamite. It worked. The dynamite exploded with a thunderous crack exactly against the cabin were Eames had intended it to fall. The blast, he felt sure, must certainly have stunned Johnson if not killed him. Eames and another constable charged the cabin. Although the cabin had almost collapsed on top of him, Johnson was uninjured and certainly not stunned. He opened fire immediately, smashing the light the constable was carrying.

            Eames led his men away from the cabin. Their siege, in conditions of minus forty, had lasted eighteen hours without rest.

The remains of Johnson's cabin

            After two days of rest, Constable Millen left with another man under orders to determine of Johnson was still alive. The approached his cabin, very cautiously, in daylight when they were fully able to appreciate the damage done by the dynamite explosion. The front wall and been blown in and the roof had all but collapsed. It was difficult to believe anyone inside had been able to survive. But not only Johnson survived, he was gone. He had abandoned his canoe and a cache of his supplies but had left nothing in his cabin.

            The main posse set out again on January 16^th. Two days later they met Millen’s messenger and discovered Johnson was gone, despite the blizzard that was blowing. For the next four days the posse looked for trails. By January 21^st, Inspector Eames had decided to return to base with most of his men in order to preserve supplies for another ten days search with Constable Millen left in charge. Millen, with four men, found a trail, then, in the high country, they lost it again. An Indian who had heard two shots led them to a trail which bore the distinctive marks of Johnson’s homemade snowshoes. Johnson had doubled-back.

            On the 30^th of January they followed the trail to a natural fortification of fallen trees and large boulders. As they circled around the post, Johnson opened fire. As Johnson fired on Millen, Carl Gardland saw him and fired off a quick shot. Johnson dropped. There was no further reply from Johnson’s guns. They were convinced Garland had hit the man. They waited two hours. There was not the slightest movement from Johnson’s shelter. Cautiously, they approached. When they were within 25 yards, Johnson suddenly leaped up firing on them. While the others dived for cover, Millen, still standing, calmly and taking care in his aim, fired two shots. Johnson fired three and Millen fell. Gardland, lying flat, managed to pull Millen to cover by his bootlaces but Millen was already dead. One man was sent with a dog-team to take back the message of Millen’s death. The rest continued firing intermittently until night fell then they settled themselves to watch Johnson’s camp.

Constable Edgar Millen

            When Inspector Eames learned of Millen’s death, he set off with a large posse on February the 2^nd. An airplane he had requested to help in the search left Edmonton the following day. Edmonton was 1,800 miles away.

              Meanwhile, the men keeping vigil at Johnson’s camp discovered he was gone, nor was there any evidence that he had been wounded.

            When the main party reached the others, they split themselves into several smaller groups and set off in all directions in an attempt to find a trail. On February the 7^th, they discovered that rather than running from them, Johnson had circled back and was lingering in the area, watching his pursuers as though playing a game with them. He had set false trails for them to follow and, at one point, two parties following separate trails had found themselves face to face. Johnson had been wearing his snowshoes backwards to mislead them. Given his skill at concealing his trail and his speed at covering great distances, he had more than enough time to vanish completely out of the territory. Why had he stayed?

            The plane finally arrived, piloted by the Canadian World War 1 air-ace, Captain W. R. May, who had shot down thirteen enemy planes and decoyed the Red Baron into flying over enemy lines the day the legendary German pilot was shot down and killed. With May up in the air, an area that might have taken the posse a day or two to cover was searched in minutes. False leads were immediately eliminated and a remarkable thing was discovered. Johnson had always been in relatively close proximity to his pursuers. Johnson was circling back on his own trail to camp for the night just beyond it in order that he might watch it. The pursuers were amazed at Johnson’s stamina. Despite a spotter plane and twenty experienced men after him, Johnson was out-thinking, out-running and out-enduring them.

            Reinforcements arrived: two expert trappers and two Indian volunteers, along with another constable.

            While the posse was no closer to catching Johnson, the story was being reported from coast to coast. On February the 11^th, a photograph of Albert Johnson appeared on the front page of a newspaper. No detail as to the man’s background was provided but he was identified as the killer of Constable Millen. It was Albert Johnson, but not the Albert Johnson. It was a resident of Princeton, British Columbia, and he was not happy to be called The Mad Trapper. He went to the Vancouver offices of the newspaper and demanded a retraction. He got it.

            On February 12^th the posse were beginning to think they had lost Johnson when an Indian marched into camp to tell Inspector Eames that he had come across the tracks of Johnson’s snowshoes. Due to bad weather, May could not get into the air until February 14^th. It was late in the afternoon and daylight was already waning but, almost immediately, May sighted a trail left by Johnson. He had crossed the Barrier River Pass. What might have been a four-day advantage over the posse was cut to one by the airplane sighting. Eight men set off to follow Johnson’s trail over the pass and found it ‘one hell of a trip’. They could not help having a grudging respect for Johnson who had managed it alone.

            For five days the searchers followed Johnson who was still laying out trail and counter trail. He wasn’t able to light a fire or shoot game for fear of alerting the posse to his position. He survived by snaring squirrels and brewing tea over miniature fires concealed in tiny caves by the riverbanks.

            On the morning of February 17^th, the freshness of Johnson’s tracks indicated he was not far ahead. It was then that Johnson made his first and last mistake. He had climbed a tree to spot the posse. He saw them moving to the south. They were actually headed for a bend in the river which would take them north again. Johnson set off away from the posse and after about half an hour he turned a bend only to find them directly in front of him and heading his way. Johnson laced on his snowshoes and made the river bank before two of the posse could open fire on him. Staff Sergeant Earl Hersey was also the radio operator. He was the first man to fire at Johnson. ‘I’m not the killer type,’ he said. Hersey aimed for the heavy pack Johnson carried on his back, full of his cooking utensils, blankets and other gear. The shot knocked Johnson off balance and he fell. Two more wounding shots knocked Johnson down but each time he got up. Finally, he reached for his gun. Hersey had a .303, ‘which is accurate as all got out.’ Johnson had a .30.30, accurate to one hundred yards. The distance between them was 125 yards. ‘I wasn’t worried about him hitting me,’ said Hersey.

            Hersey was down on one knee, steadying his rifle, ‘being very, very careful of my aim.’ Johnson pointed his gun straight at Hersey and fired without hesitation. The bullet went through Hersey’s elbow, knee and chest. He survived to tell his story fifty years later. The posse caught up with Hersey’s position. Eames called for Johnson to give up, but he continued firing from behind his backpack. The posse of Mounties, soldiers and Indians surrounded him. By the time they stopped firing, Johnson had 17 bullets in him but they only approached after being informed by Captain May in the plane above that Johnson was dead.

            ‘There is something about the way a dead man lies that is unmistakable,’ said May. He dipped his wing-tips to signal Johnson’s death to the posse. By the time he landed, the men who weren’t helping Hersey were standing around Johnson. May stepped around to get a look at him. He was lying face down on the frozen river. ‘As I stepped over and saw him, I got the worst shock I think I have ever had. Johnson’s lips were curled from his teeth in the most terrible sneer I’ve ever seen on a man’s face… his teeth glistened like an animal’s… it was the most awful grimace of hate I’ll ever see.’ Emaciated, Johnson’s ash-grey skin was pulled back on his bones and his eyes remained half-open, staring out from deep in their sockets

            When Johnson’s body was loaded upon a sleigh for the trip back suddenly went wild, snarling and barking, seemingly terrified by the body. They continued to fight hard against taking the trail and howled grimly. The driver tore them apart with rifle butt and lash but, far off down the frozen river, their howling could still be heard.

Back at base, Captain May learned some further details of Johnson’s hunt from Inspector Eames. Johnson, he had learned, had crossed the Divide over the highest peak, which was over 8,000 ft. Said May: ‘That trip over the mountains must have been one long agony for him… there wasn’t a scrap of firewood available… he must have spent at least one night in that high altitude without a fire. We marvelled anew at the tremendous vitality this man must have possessed and the indomitable will power he had shown in tackling the mountains. Few people in the Arctic cross those mountains in the wintertime, even with dogs and plenty of supplies unless they are compelled to.’

Of the seventeen bullets which had struck Johnson, the first had hit his hip pocket which held his ammunition. The ammunition exploded, tearing a huge wound in his hip. All the other bullets were in his legs, back and shoulders. The shot that finally killed him had passed through the small of his back, severing his spine. At the end, his feet, legs and both hands were frozen, probably from his night in the mountains. He was emaciated from lack of food. He had dropped most of his supplies and only carried his weapons and ammunition. He also had $2,500 in Canadian and US currency, said to be a fortune in cash for the Arctic. The officers had never seen a sawn-off shotgun before in the north. It was the weapon of gangsters and murderers in the big cities. Where had Johnson learned to make one? And what use would it be to a trapper? Also discovered were two gold bridges, presumably from a man’s mouth, but not Johnson’s mouth. Another grim find was made. Johnson, apparently, had no intention of being taken alive. On inspection, a loose butt plate on his weapon was removed. A cleft and been cut in the wood and a single bullet placed there – a bullet Johnson had saved for himself, if needed.

But who was Albert Johnson?

Captain May was certain he was an Idaho murderer named Coyote Bill. Cayote Bill had been a trapper and was wanted for murder and robbery. He had led a posse on a chase through an Idaho wilderness area called The Craters of the Moon and, when he vanished, he was believed to have been heading for the Yukon or the Canadian North. May saw his picture in Detective Magazine and was sure this was the frozen face he had seen in the snow.  Cayote Bill, a criminal and associate of gangsters would have known how to make and use a sawn-off shotgun. Being a wanted man on the run would also explain his unprovoked shooting of a police constable knocking on his door to talk to him about traps and a hunting licence, and the ‘fortress cabin’ Johnson had built with a sunken floor, double-logged wall and rifle slits. This was far too much back-breaking labour for a simple trapper’s cabin, but perfectly explicable for a killer on the run afraid of being tracked down. The only problem with May’s theory was that Cayote Bill’s fingerprints were in file and they did not match Johnson’s. 

            The most likely candidate to be Albert Johnson was a man called Arthur Nelson. A man calling himself by that name bought six boxes of kidney pills in the Spring of 1931 Similar pills were found in Johnson’s possession after his death. Nelson had arrived in the Yukon in 1927. Like Johnson he was not particularly talkative or informative. Other than a trader named Roy Buttle who had offered to help the stranger make a canoe, Nelson spoke to no one and camped at least a half-mile from the settlement. Buttle also noticed something very curious about Nelson, or rather, about the effect he had on the local Indians. The Indians living around the Post were visibly afraid of the stranger and would have absolutely nothing to do with him. Buttle wondered, why? It wasn’t because he was an intimidating giant. He was only around 5 ft 7 to 5-8, weighed perhaps 11 stone, and was of a well-proportioned but slight build. Buttle asked the Indians. They were reluctant to speak of their fear but one of them spoke, muttering only word, ‘Wendigo’, meaning a bad spirit or some such thing.

About a year later, nelson returned to the same settlement. He told Buttle that he had been trapping at Ross Lake. He bought a Savage .30.30 carbine and some .22 shells, the same type of weapons Johnson owned. Nelson was spotted intermittently over the next year by trappers he spoke to and at places he traded. Between 1929 and 1931, Nelson hunted in the Macmillan River district. Before leaving the Macmillan district, Nelson bough the kidney pills that connected him with Johnson. Kidney pills were said to be beneficial for:

‘A Cold, Backache, Disturbed Urine, Discolored Urine, Brickdusty Deposits, Irregularities, Suppressions, Female Weakness, Dragging Down, Lame Back, Spinal Weakness, Neuralgia, Rheumatism, Catarrh of Bladder, Stone in the Bladder, Heart Trouble, Shortness of Breath, Dropsical Swellings, General Debility, Wasting Away Disease, Diabetes, Bright's Disease, Eruptions and Sores, Paralysis, and all Impurities of the Blood.’

Clerk, Archie Currie, of Binet’s Store was surprised when Nelson bought six boxes but Nelson was so taciturn that Currie did not engage him in conversation. In May 1931, Arthur Nelson disappeared. In July 1931, Albert Johnson appeared.

When Johnson was killed, his possessions were gathered and itemised. He had a Savage .30.30 rifle, a sawed-off 16-gauge shotgun and a .22 Winchester rifle with a cut-down stock. He had shells to go with his guns and a package of 32 kidney pills. Fingerprints taken from the corpse were sent to Ottawa and Washington D.C. No identification was made. Although there was no conclusive evidence that Albert Johnson and Arthur Nelson were the same man, circumstantial evidence would seem to make the case probable. So, Albert Johnson, in all likelihood, was Arthur Nelson.

But who was Arthur Nelson?  

Ha ha ha ha...