Death On Porcupine River

It took them seven weeks, a dozen straining dog teams, an airplane, the life of one constable and the wounding of two others, but last week mad Albert Johnson toppled forward in the snow and bled to death. The reputation of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police was saved.

Nobody knew much about Albert Johnson. A quiet, stocky fellow about 40 years old, he appeared in Aklavik, North West Territories, about a year ago, said he had walked in from Alaska. He seemed to have plenty of money. He built himself a little cabin about 100 miles south of Aklavik, shut himself up in it and was notably cool to strangers.

In December Indian trappers complained at the Mounted Police Headquarters in Aklavik that somebody was interfering with their trap lines. For both white and red men, trapping is the only livelihood in winter. Robbing trap lines is a crime, though understandable, but these traps were not robbed. Somebody was smashing snares and deadfalls, scattering the bait so hungry animals could eat it in safety. Tracks of the trap-smasher were followed to Johnson's cabin. Indians raised the alarm, said the man was "mad."

Constables King and McDowell went out to ask Albert Johnson a few questions. They knocked on the cabin door, but Albert Johnson did not answer. Three bullets splintered the door and smashed into Constable King's chest. McDowell did not wait. He dragged his friend to their sledge and cracked his snake whip as loud as Hermit Johnson's rifle. Tongues out, the husky dogs plunged forward. They made the 100 miles back to Aklavik in 20 hours. It was a record and it saved Constable King's life.

Ten days later a new patrol mushed out to Rat River to avenge Constable King. Albert Johnson had used the interval to turn his hut into a blockhouse. He had dug the dirt floor out to a depth of four feet, cut loopholes at the floor level. For 15 hours Albert Johnson held off the Mounties. Hand grenades blew the roof off his hut. Albert Johnson retired, like an angry woodchuck stern foremost into a dugout, kept fighting. The police retired, disgruntled.

For the third time a police patrol set out from Aklavik, but this time Albert Johnson had fled from Rat River, was trying to beat his way through the arctic winter to Alaska and safety. Followed the north country's greatest man hunt. Trappers rushed their wives to trading posts for safety, then joined the posse.

Thirty miles further in the wilderness the posse tracked him down. Mad Albert had built a fort of ice and snow. There was another battle. In it, Constable E. Millen died. Police ammunition ran out and the posse withdrew for supplies, leaving three men to watch the fort. In the middle of the night Mad Albert Johnson slipped away again in a blizzard that covered his snowshoe tracks.

After the much-publicized Col. William Avery Bishop, one of Canada's best known War aces is Capt. W. R. ("Wop") May, a survivor of the epic battle which ended in the death of Germany's famed Baron Manfred von Richthofen. "Wop" May was at Fort McMurray, Alberta, 1,100 miles away, when Constable Millen was shot. He loaded a bomb rack, took off in an army plane.

The blizzard could not hide Albert Johnson from the eyes of Capt. May. Fortnight later he reported that Albert Johnson had crossed the Yukon River, was tracking west from Pierre House trading post, only 175 miles from the Alaska border. The man hunt resumed, full cry.

Last week they cornered him in the upper Yukon. Sergeant E. F. Hersey and Trapper Noel Verville were driving the lead sledge when they saw Mad Albert Johnson wearily retracing his track along Porcupine River. Johnson saw them too. He jumped off the trail, took cover. Sergeant Hersey and Trapper Verville followed fast. "Wop" May roared in circles trying to drop a bomb without injuring the pursuers. Before he could do so, Albert Johnson sent a bullet through Sergeant Hersey's knee that ranged along his thigh and into his chest. The rest of the posse ran up just in time to riddle Albert Johnson with one crashing volley. Sergeant Hersey, gravely wounded, was rushed back to Aklavik in "Wop" May's plane. Albert Johnson came back on a police sledge, dead, frozen stiff.

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