This is great stuff. Thanks for taking the time and effort to post these accounts. I've read plenty of books on the old west, but there's new information here for me. Keep it up!
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This is great stuff. Thanks for taking the time and effort to post these accounts. I've read plenty of books on the old west, but there's new information here for me. Keep it up!
I just found these stories. great stuff! Can't wait for the Tom Horn installment, since I used to spend some time in Brown's Hole, Colorado.
Meantime, anyone ever hear of a Southern Colorado lawman by the name of Elfego Baca? He was said to be a real ******, and the genuine article.
"Experience is a series of non-fatal mistakes"
Disarming is a mistake free people only get to make once...
Thanks boys!
I've decided to go with one of my favorites.
BTW: I have one on Baca. Will get it posted. I'm going to post a different one than I had planned. Tell me if catch a whiff of gunpowder and the sound of good leather creaking
Last edited by Gibson; 11-11-2012 at 07:07 PM.
How about the Newton General Massacre? August 19,1871
The event known as "The Newton General Massacre" or less often "The Gunfight at Hyde (or Hide) Park". Took place on the late evening of August 19/early morning of August 20, 1871. But the precursor to the event that our modern friends tell us never really occurred in the "Old West", went down on Friday the week before.
It was Friday August 11, 1871. August elections were being contested and all the town was ablaze with politics. The town had hired a couple of new men as "Special Policeman". Their names were: Billy Bailey and Mike McCluskie. Billy Bailey was a Texan who had come to Newton on a cattle drive. McCluskie was an easterner, an Ohioan. He was a hard case, been tried for garrotting a man but beat the rap. Hard drinking and hot tempered. Formerly a "Night Policeman" for a railroad company, now earning a living as a gambler until his latest job. . . The two men quarreled regularly over almost everything. This day was the same. The two men had a heated debate during the midday but parted. That evening would have a different outcome.
Bill Bailey and Mike McCluskie were both at The Red Front Saloon that same evening. Both men were, of course, strapped. It took very little time and very few drinks for the two be back at it. This time the quarrel went further. McCluskie was enraged and cold cocked Bailey knocking him slap out of building! Bailey hit the ground and looked up to McCluskie, who had rushed him as he fell. Bailey tried clearing his head, pulling his pistol and standing up. But McCluskie drew his sixgun and put a hole in Bailey's chest (maybe two). Bailey died hours later. McCluskie left town. The biggest problem here is that Newton was a cattle town and Bailey was a Texan.
For whatever reason McCluskie returned to Newton some days later. It is likely he heard word that he could again beat the rap. He claimed self defense as Bailey had been involved in mortal sixgun play on three other occasions, rumor had it two men ended up dead to Bailey's sixgun. . . Whatever, they did not charge McCluskie. However, his not getting charged did nothing to stop word from moving fast to Bailey's friends and it was clear that revenge would be had.
Now, for the most intriguing part of this story. When McCluskie had come to Newton, Kansas sometime back he had taken in a boy who was suffering from tuberculosis. The boy was quite ill and evidently McCluskie took care of him. The boy was now 18 years old. His name was James or Jim Riley, a very mysterious figure, known by locals as "McCluskie's Shadow". One can deduce he was born in 1853. Where he was born is a mystery. What is known is that he understood LOYALTY and wore a pair of Colt's revolvers.
"Late on the evening of August 19, 1871, McCluskie strode into Tuttle's Dance Hall, located in an area of town called Hyde Park. Accompanied by a friend named Jim Martin, a Texas cowboy, the two sat down to play faro. Already in the saloon was McCluskie's "shadow," James Riley."
Billy Garrett, Henry Kearnes, and Jim Wilkerson, all friends of Billy Bailey and Texans walked into the saloon and worked their way over to the bar to await another of their group, Hugh Anderson. One of them then ambles over to the table where McCluskie was seated playing faro. He engages him in conversation. This group has but a single purpose for being there: To kill McCluskie. . . Hugh Anderson enters the saloon.
It is 2am.
As we pause I present this quotation from the August 25, 1871 issue of the "Emporia News":
"It seems that this murderous affair was the result of several less fatal shooting scrapes which have been happening at Newton for some weeks.
It must be borne in mind that the state of society in that town is now at its worst. The town is largely inhabited by prostitutes, gamblers and whisky-sellers. Pistol shooting is the common amusement. All the frequenters of the saloons, gambling dens and houses of ill-fame are armed at all times, mostly with two pistols.
About two weeks ago a Captain French, from Texas, had George [or Arthur] Delany, alias Wm. [or Mike] McCluskie, a St. Louis hard case, arrested on a charge of garroting. He was tried before Esquire [C. S.] Bowman, and they failed to prove anything against him. On the day of the election on railroad bonds, McCluskie and a man named [William] Bailey [or Baylor], both of whom were on the special police, got into a difficulty about the matter of the arrest, and about a woman. Bailey got drunk. The difficulty commenced at one of the dance houses, just out of the town, and after coming to the village, Bailey was shot and killed by McCluskie. French and other Texans, among whom was one named Bill [or Hugh] Anderson, then swore they would put an end to McCluskie's life, and break up his crowd. Several small difficulties occurred between the parties and their friends. "
Note some differences. . .
The fight is next
Last edited by Gibson; 11-11-2012 at 09:00 PM.
THE FIGHT
Hugh Anderson entered Tuttle's Saloon cocked and primed. Walked straight over to the faro table and by all accounts yelled these words, "You are a cowardly son-of-a-bitch! I will blow the top of your head off!" He then proceeds to attempt just that, while Jim Martin- McCluskie's friend- jumps up and tries to stop any violence before it starts. Anderson, ignoring Martin blazes away at McCluskie and nails him right through the neck, an horrific wound. McCluskie hauls out his cap and ball smoke-wagon and pulls the trigger but it misfires and he collapses dying. Anderson walks over and puts a round in his back, possibly two. Now all hell breaks loose. You have got to picture this, it's a hot sticky Kansas night, it's 2am in saloon that is at best poorly lighted, and now the place is filled with that wonderful acrid blinding GUN SMOKE. Stay with me now!
The three other Texans, Garrett, Wilkerson, and Kearns commence a general firing. They are blazing away at basically anyone and everyone. Now comes "McCluskie's Shadow, Jim Riley, into the fray. He brought it. Some say he walked over and locked the saloon door, doubtful. But what he did do was to unleash hell. He calmly stepped in front of the door and yanked his two Colt's revolved and brought them to bear indiscriminately. This kid emptied those Colts on seven men! Yes, he shot seven men. Some more than once. First shot hits the peacemaker in the jugular and he bolts out the door and falls dead on the steps of Krum's Dance Hall. Riley shot six more men, to include all four of the Texans and two bystanders. Here is an ordered statement of the wounds:
"Anderson [Texan] is hit in the thigh and leg. He survives his wounds.
Garrett [Texan] is hit in the shoulder and chest. he dies later in the day.
Hickey [bystander] is shot in the calf. He survives his wounds.
Kearnes [Texan] is shot in the chest. He dies on August 27th.
Patrick Lee [bystander] is shot in the stomach. He dies on August 22nd.
Wilkerson [Texan] is shot in the nose and leg. He survives his wounds."
This kid, Riley, killed four men and severely wounded three others. If all chambers fired he took twelve shots in unimaginably gun smoke filled poorly lighted room and hit with ten of them. He then turned and walked out of the saloon and was never heard from or seen again. [One must also factor in that he possibly only loaded 5 per cylinder, also.] It is my opinion that once McCluskie, his friend, was shot he no longer cared, he just unleashed lead.
Addenda to follow soon. . .
The Addendum:
This is just another example that goes directly to our overriding theme!
Mike McCluskie just happened to have a brother who was larger than him and just as 'ornery'. His name: Arthur McCluskie. Well as you might have guessed, he swore to get his brothers killer, Hugh Anderson, the Texan who had barely survived the shootout. (Strangely, an arrest warrant for Anderson was issued but he somehow managed to get back to his home turf in Texas.) As long as he stayed there he was safe from both prosecution and Arthur McCluskie. But, of course, as time passed he becomes more confident and strikes out for for Kansas, again. He lands a bartender job at a trading post in Medicine Lodge, working for a man named Harding. It doesn't take long for word to filter back to Arthur McCluskie. And of course he hightails it Medicine Lodge, Kansas. And immediately goes to the post and sends in a man named Richards to fetch Anderson. It was June, 1873. . .
The following is well documented. We'll steal from the Nellie Snyder Yost and Bill O"Neill versions; all accounts are basically the same. The following is a letter perfect example of what they tell is all myth. It's not myth it's fact, just as the three prior dead to Anderson's sixgun are fact.
Anderson emerged from the trading post to be challenged to a duel. He then hears from McCluskie, "guns or knives". Anderson chooses the former as he is a much smaller man than this ogre clad all in buckskin and packing a revolver and a Bowie knife.
The men squared off later in the day. They stood back to back and stepped off twenty paces, then grimly awaited the trading post owner to fire a signal shot. This ultimately bloodthirsty wretch Harding, fires and it's on. Both men whirl around violently and fire shots neither takes effect but instantly McCluskie snaps off a second shot that breaks Anderson's left arm and he crumples, BUT! through sheer grit and from his knees he shoots McCluskie square in the face, right through the mouth, making him a bloody mess. McCluskie was enraged with pain and bloodlust, he tore straight for Anderson who sat on his knees and pumped more lead into McCluskie. . . stomach, then shoulder and then this giant of a man collapsed to the ground. The throngs watching moved closer thinking the fight was finished. But it was not. Though bullet riddled McCluskie raised his head then his revolver and squeezed off a round that just gutted Anderson. At this point multiple spectators moved to stop the blood drenched brawl but the degenerate Harding prevented them. He fell back onto his back barely breathing. McCluskie, in pure agony pulls his Bowie and crawls toward Anderson leaving a river of blood in his wake. Somehow Anderson pulls himself to a half seated position, and pulling his knife, brutally slashed McCluskie's neck. McCluskies last act was to bury his Bowie into Anderson's side as both men collapsed in death.
You believe that epic battle? Right in the street they dueled to the death. An astonishing titanic struggle.
Thus with these last two deaths we end up with eight dead and three terribly wounded as a result of the "General Massacre", if one includes it's lead up and aftermath.
Last edited by Gibson; 12-10-2012 at 10:44 PM.
Cool and mysterious story, eh? The kid is an enigmatic figure. No one knows what happened to him, some even blindly dismiss him as a fiction. It gets tougher when you asked if God JUST 'miracled' those bodies there. . . because the dead are indisputable.
The addenda is all out combat, eh?
~650 hits in around 48 hours, I suppose some of the old bullet casters still enjoy tales of SIXGUNS and SADDLE LEATHER!
Next Installment:
El Chivato!
Event site:
The Dead:
The outlaw we are looking at will be referenced as Billy the Kid or some such manifestation, in keeping with the vernacular.
on December 23, 1880, when Billy surrendered at the the crude rock house in Stinking Springs, New Mexico he was led away by a large posse, the following is an alleged photo, with Billy on the far left:
A fascinating account from a posse member Jim East:
"Posse Member Jim East: "We got to the rock house just before daylight. Our horses were left with Frank Stewart and some of the other boys under guard, while Garrett took Lee Hall, Tom Emory, and myself with him. We crawled up the arroyo to within about thirty feet of the door, where we lay down in the snow.
There was no window in this house, and only one door which we would cover with our guns. The Kid had taken his race mare into the house, but the other three horses were standing near the door, hitched by ropes to the vega poles.
Just as day began to show, Charlie Bowdre came out to feed his horse. I suppose, for he had a moral in one hand. Garrett told him to throw up his hands, but he grabbed at his six-shooter. Then Garrett and Lee Hall both shot him in the breast. Emory and I didn't shoot, for there was no use to waste ammunition then.
Charlie turned and went into the house, and we heard the Kid say to him: "Charlie, you are done for. Go out and see if you can't get one of the s-o-b's before you die."
Charlie then walked out with his hand on his pistol, but was unable to shoot. We didn't shoot, for we could see he was about dead. He stumbled and fell on Lee Hall. He started to speak, but the words died with him.
Now Garrett, Lee, Tom, and I fired several shots at the ropes which held the horses, and cut them loose-all but one horse which was half way in the door. Garrett shot him down, and that blocked the door, so the Kid could not make a wolf dart on his mare.
We then held a medicine talk with the Kid, but of course couldn't see him. Garrett asked him to give up, Billy answered: Go to H**l, you long-legged s-of a b!
Garrett then told Tom Emory and I to go around to the other side of the house, as we could hear them trying to pick out a port-hole. Then we took it, time about, guarding the house all that day. When nearly sundown, we saw a white handkerchief on a stick, poked out of the chimney. Some of us crawled up the arroyo near enough to talk to Billy. He said they had no show to get away, and wanted to surrender, if we would give our word not to fire into them when they came out with their hands up, but that traitor, Barney Mason, raised his gun to shoot the Kid, when Lee Hall and I covered Barney and told him to drop his gun, which he did."
The kid was transported to Las Vegas, then ultimately to stand trial Mesilla. His first trial was dismissed; it was for the murder of "Buckshot" Roberts and was dismissed on April 6, 1881 on a technicality. His second trial was for the murder of one Sheriff Brady, it began two days later on April 8. On April 9 he is found guilty and on April 13 he is sentenced to be hanged. That quick. . . So, on April 21, Billy is transported to the Lincoln County Courthouse to await his date the with "Judge Lynch".
So on April 21, 1881, Billy is imprisoned at the Lincoln County Courthouse on the upstairs floor. He is held there alone while five other prisoners are kept together, across the hall from him. His guards are Patrick Garrett, Robert Olinger, and James. W. Bell. It seems appropriate to comment a bit on Deputy Olinger (Pecos Bob) as he was clearly, even by Garrett's standards, a man with a bloodlust:
"Olinger’s lust for blood was evident to Garrett the day he and Olinger rode out to arrest an armed Mexican who had taken refuge in a ditch. Garrett promised the Mexican that if he would surrender peaceably, no harm would come to him. As the Mexican emerged from the ditch with his hands in the air, Olinger drew his pistol with homicidal intent. Only when Garrett pulled his own pistol and stood in front of the Mexican did Olinger holster his. "Put it away, Bob," said Garrett. "Unless you want to try me.'"
An example of his vileness on the trip to Lincoln, after Billy was convicted and sentenced. (Interestingly, Olinger bid for the job of transporting Billy):
"Olinger rode in the hack with Billy, constantly tormenting him and jabbing him with the muzzle of his shotgun, daring him to make a break for it. "Be careful, Bob," Billy quietly retorted. "I’m not hung yet. " And Olinger jabbed him in the stomach again with his shotgun. A majority of the guards sympathized with Billy, in spite of evidences of his villainy."
From another article concerning Olinger:
"The other is Deputy "Pecos Bob" Olinger, the hulking badman, rustler, and killer. Olinger and Billy have a deep hatred for each other which has existed since the Lincoln County War, when they fought on opposite sides. The hatred was cemeted when Olinger ambushed and killed Billy's friend John Jones, who, ironically, fought alongside Olinger in the war. In the days since he's been guarding Billy, Olinger has made constant threats and taunts to him, trying to goad him into making an escape attempt so that Olinger can fire his newly-purchased double-barrled shotgun into him. In response, Billy just taunts right back, makes jokes, and stays in a surprisingly jovial mood, which in itself angers the brutish deputy."
Yet by contrast, Deputy Bell seems to have been fair with Billy and accorded him the dignity that most men require. Although Bell probably held some bitterness toward the Kid in the death of his friend, James Carlyle, he did not show it. Garrett had even commented that Billy had taken a liking to Bell. Hm. I wonder how much of a liking?
So, on Thursday April 28 Patrick Garrett has gone to White Oaks to "collect taxes". Various accounts make it clear that he was also there to buy lumber to build the gallows for Billy's hanging set to occur on May 13, 1881, between the hours of 9am and 3pm. I suspect it could have been both. Ergo, it is just Bell and Olinger there with Billy and the other five inmates.
Billy had sat daily being very attentive to every movement of the guards biding his time and watching for an opening. I think he saw his chance with Garrett gone and only the two deputies to have to overtake. As usual, at 5pm Olinger got his other five charges and took them across the street to the Wortley Hotel where all six men would have dinner. Billy was deemed to dangerous and had his meals brought by, a friend, Sam Corbet to his "cell". At all times Billy's "gang" was a source of legitimate worry for anyone holding him! This is where the story gets murky. There are three scenarios. With Olinger safely across the way, Billy requests to go to the privy. On the way back the kid is in the lead. He is shackled and followed by the rifle toting Bell. Once they enter the building they proceed upstairs when Billy slips a cuff and turns and clocks Bells with the heavy iron bracelet. In a flash the Kid grabs for Bell's gun. Bell tries to recover and wrestles with Billy for a short while but with the revolver now in Billy's control, Bell charges staggeringly down the stairs. As he lumbers down Billy snapped off an un-aimed shot at the guard, the round grazed a wall and then found its mark. It hit Bell in the torso and passed completely through, lodging in a wall. Bell was no more. Godfrey Gauss, a former Tunstall cook and a friend of the Kid is gardening behind the "jail" He rushes around to the front and sees Bell burst through the door falling dead into his arms.
The second scenario is much the same with one prominent exception. In the privy, a revolver has been secreted and awaits the Kid. From a 1998 article:
"Maurice Fulton, a tireless researcher of New Mexican history during the 1920s and 1930s, liked the version in which Sam Corbet, who had been Tunstall's clerk, aided Billy. According to that version, Corbet had visited Billy every day and, despite the watchful eyes of Olinger and Bell, had managed to slip him a note on which one word was written — 'Privy.' Not much of a clue, but Billy was a sharp youth, and he somehow got the message — there would be a revolver waiting for him in the outhouse. The revolver had been wrapped in a newspaper and planted in the outhouse by another friend, José Aguayo. The outhouse was open to the public, so somebody else could have found the weapon. But nobody else did. On his trip to the outhouse in the early evening of the 28th, Billy had retrieved the gun and hid it in his clothes. Once back inside the courthouse, the Kid had then pulled the revolver from its hiding place and shot the unsuspecting Bell."
The third scenario is that the kid did have the revolver but cracked Bell over the head with it twice during a scuffle. However when Bell bolted down the steps, he shot him.
Take your pick, each is equally amazing and one is definitely TRUE.
(Another theory was advanced by Pat Garrett. He closely examined the aftermath and concluded that a shackled Billy simply raced upstairs away from Bell grabbed a revolver from the armory kept on the second floor and shot Bell. Dubious but I suppose possible.)
For the record, I lean toward scenario number one. Billy the Kid allegedly told a friend, John P. Meadows, shorty after the event that he had hit Bell with the handcuffs and shot him with his own pistol. Daring and reckless and likely the truth!
The Kid after a herculean struggle had managed to go from being shackled, cuffed, and guarded with a Winchester rifle, to having a dead deputy laying in the street. He next completely frees himself of his cuffs and tosses them into the street from a second story window. (According to Garrett, Billy threw the cuffs at Bell's body and said, 'Here, damn you, take these, too.') He next procures the 10 gauge that Robert Olinger has tormented him with.
Ollinger had just recently loaded it with two 18-pellets rounds of buckshot. You getting this? A 10-gauge loaded in any manner is formidable!
The Kid now does something that becomes legendary. . . he could have awaited Olinger and likely taken him prisoner. Then locked him in a "cell" and rode away. He did not. He positioned himself near "his window", armed with the mighty 10, and waited. Here's what happened next:
"A few seconds later, Olinger rushes out of the Wortley Hotel yelling "Did Bell kill the Kid?!" He quickly runs into the side-yard, just below the window Billy is positioned in, and hears Gauss yell "The Kid has killed Bell!" Just then, from his second-story perch, Billy calls out a cheerful "Hello Bob!" Olinger freezes in place, looks up, sees the two barrels of his own shotgun staring down at him, and quietly replies to Gauss, "Yes, and he's killed me too." With that, Billy pulls both triggers and fires thirty-six buckshot into Pecos Bob's face, right shoulder, chest, and side. What's left of the deputy falls to ground, dead. Billy then smashes the shotgun over the window sill and throws the broken pieces at Olinger's body, shouting "Take that, you damned son-of-a-bitch! You won't corral me with that again!"
Notice in the photo that the stock has been wired back on.
Billy had earlier "raided" the makeshirt armory. He procured, a Winchester rifle, two pistols, and two cartridge belts loaded with ammunition; then he called down to his amigo, Godfrey and asked him to throw up a pickax. A short time later he requested a saddled horse. the Kid spent a great while working on his leg irons with the axe and it is said that he there for well over an hour AFTER both deputies were dead. He finally managed to free one leg from the shackle and tied the other to his belt. He walked out into a crowd of onlookers. He looks down Bells corpse and apologizes and walks over and kicks Olingers lifeless body and says "you will not corral me anymore", for a second time. and attempted to mount the horse that had been taken for him from County Clerk Billy Burt.
As he mounts the pony it spooks and he is thrown. After it is brought back Billy mounts more carefully and rides away singing, he yells back for the folks to "Tell Billy Burt I'll send his pony back, and don't look for me this side if Ireland. Adios, boys!" (It was.)
Billy rides off to the west and into American legend
Last edited by Gibson; 11-13-2012 at 02:02 AM.
I read all this thread, stem to stern. I demand more! Best reading I have had for a good while.
Just a follow up note on Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry Owens (to give his full name).
He remained a Law man well into the 20th Century, and arrested a couple of Bank Robbers who made the mistake of discounting the old constable after he shot up their getaway car with his old thumb buster. He was 69 or 70 at the time.
_________________________________________________It's not that I can't spell: it is that I can't type.
You betcha! Glad to oblige. Thanks, manOriginally Posted by jmortimer
I am going to put up my sketch of the mad trapper now. I know it's not strictly an old west story. But danged if it doesn't have a feel of old west zeitgeist, ya know?
Stay tuned, that man exhibited a feat of human endurance that rivals Harvey Logan in Knoxville
Last edited by Gibson; 11-13-2012 at 01:49 AM.
Bravo. Feel free to contribute anytime! Sounds a lot like a Jeff Milton, now there was a lawman's lawman! In 1917, after 40 years (he went on to put in over 50 years of law enforcement service, he had one usable arm in 1917, and accomplished the following (from a sketch I wrote on Milton):
"The would-be robber, Fred Koch, was somewhat simple minded. He fled the bank afoot, after mortally wounding the banker. To his surprise the wounded man came from the vault bearing a scattergun. Koch parted the doorway in a dead run. While puttering into town astride his sewing machine, AKA T Model Ford
Milton began in law enforcement with the Texas Rangers in 1878 and retired as a Border Patrol Agent in 1932. Double Tough SOB!
Actually,
Elfego Baca spent most if not all his life in southern and southwestern NM. Quite a recognized name there, especially among the older generation- mostly passed now. One of the last of the gunfighter/lawmen of the old west. IIRC the history- had a heckuva shootout at Frisco Plaza (Reserve NM).
The US Marshal for that area was an old family friend who often spoke about Baca. Unfortunately, I was a little too young to remember the details other than the name Elfego Baca was frequently mentioned when recalling stories of the last of the wild west in that area.
Trust but verify the honeyguide
Re: Baca. I did a sketch on the "Frisco Shootout", so to speak. No doubt, you have more to add than I do but I'll post it up in time.
"Those were great old days. Everything is very quiet now, isn't it?" said Mr. Baca looking up. "I think I'll run for something this fall, but I don't know what yet. "
-Baca, in his later years
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[We are stepping away from our thread title's purview a bit tonight]
Tonight we do a sketch on what I have considered since my youth to be one of the INCREDIBLE feats of human endurance ever exhibited.
"Albert Johnson" was one helluva man. I recall almost 30 years ago borrowing a book on inter-library loan from a library in PA. I had seen this fellow mentioned and wanted to learn more about him. Fascinating! Being still a kid, I just could not fathom how he survived and now as an adult it is still as mysterious as his identity.
The Mad Trapper of Rat River:
Maybe you recall the Hollywood version:
Stay tuned. . .
Last edited by Gibson; 11-13-2012 at 02:54 AM.
“On the “mystery roll” of the
man-hunt scroll is written the
trapper’s name, But no-one
knows just who he was, from
whence or why he came.”
Despite a herculean effort on the part of many, "The Mad Trapper", Albert Johnson, has never been identified. He was and is a man of mystery. There have been numerous folks proffered but thus far DNA has excluded even our best suspects. The tests on his teeth indicate he was likely from either Scandinavian or from the American "Corn Belt". All up, I suspect he was Scandinavian. Eye witnesses who actually heard him speak claimed he had an accent indicating such heritage. Albert Johnson never uttered a word to the Mounties. Whoever he was, he was one determined individual. It took the most modern of tools at the time to run him to ground BUT he gave them an incredible run using nothing but the old ways and employing human endurance that would make Shackleton proud. Tough is not a strong enough word for this hombre.
No one knows for sure of whence he came- as the poem says- but he showed up in 1927.
"The place is the Yukon Territory. A stranger arrives at the Ross River Post for supplies, claiming his name is Arthur Nelson, and that he is remaining at the post just long enough to build a boat. He buys the necessary materials from the Taylor and Drury Trading store, in cash, using large bills. Although generally keeping to himself, he does converse with a trader named Roy Buttle who is helping him build the boat. He reveals only his Danish heritage and that he was raised on a small farm in North Dakota. He leaves the settlement nine days later, as suddenly and as strangely as he arrived.
Over the next couple of years, Arthur Nelson is occasionally seen in the surrounding area. About a year after leaving Ross River Post, he returns for a month to await the supply boat. Soon after, he asks some trappers for directions to the settlement of Keno. Next he asks the way to Mayo. Nelson is seen on July 9, 1931, at Fort McPherson."
From an internet article, here is the set-up:
"Albert Johnson’s arrival in Fort MacPherson, July 9th 1931 on the southern edge of the Mackenzie delta (67 degrees N latitude) was by all accounts non-eventful. He was approximately 35 years of age, a very taciturn individual with cold blue eyes coupled with a stocky muscular build. These physical characteristics in men that trapped for a living in the north were nothing out of the ordinary.
What the local people considered strange, however, was the fact that Albert did not bother to obtain a trapping license even though he built an 8' X 10' cabin with a good view on 3 sides in a prime trapping location on the Rat River.
With the trapping season in full swing by early December 1931 some of Albert's neighbours began having someone disrupt their traps. The only change from last season to this one - was Albert Johnson. On Dec. 31 Constable Alfred 'Buns' King and Special Constable Joe Bernard, each of whom had considerable northern experience, decided to call on Johnson to investigate. When they approached his cabin they noticed smoke billowing up from the chimney giving the impression that he was in the cabin. But Albert wasn’t in a talking mood."
Native trappers had actually made reports with RCMP.
"The natives of Fort McPherson who trap and hunt in and around the Rat River had reported that their traps had been sprung, hung on bushes, and in some cases, thrown away. These natives had had previous experience of this nature when some trapper had become a victim of the northern solitudes and had lost his reason. Therefore, they tarried not on the order of their going, but cleared out immediately. They later reported to the RCMP, and suspicion pointed to Albert Johnson, a trapper who lived in a cabin about 12 miles up the Rat River. It was understood that he was trapping without a license. So, shortly after Christmas, Constable King left for the Rat River to question him on these two items."
Albert Johnson however had other ideas. Johnson had actually met RCMP Constable Edgar Millen earlier and had had a short, one-sided conversation with him; telling him nothing more. He wanted to be LEFT ALONE. Period.
The natives referred to above were the Louchoux Natives and these are the folks who complained to Millen, who in turn dispatched Constable King, as the quotation notes.
King arrived at the cabin in late December, 1931. Mr. Johnson, as mentioned, utters not a word. . . just waits. It is 40 below when King decides to go back, accompanied by his native guide and Constable Joe Bernard, he left for Aklavik to secure a search warrant. The warrant having been obtained, he again headed for the cabin, this time he was additionally accompanied by Constable Lazarus Sittichiulis and Robert McDowell. When they return to the cabin, it is December 31, 1931 and they are "promptly greeted with a hail of fire. Constable King is severely wounded and the posse falls back." Again.
Albert Johnson had evidently had enough with visitors. On arrival, King approached the door and, with his back to the wall of the cabin, leaned over and knocked upon the door with the back of his left hand. Without uttering a sound, as soon as he heard the men and then the knock, he opened up with his Colt's .38 Auto; he shot through the cabin door, severely wounding King. The "shot from within entered his chest, travelling across the body and out through his ribs on his right side. Constable McDowell then went to the assistance of his wounded comrade and making him as comfortable as possible, loaded him in the carry-all of the toboggan and started a race to Aklavik for medical attention." A 20+ hour dogsled trip back to Aklavik and a great job by Dr. Urquhart saved his life. The date was New Year's Day 1932.
Strike Two. . .
The Constables now would make a third try. Here are the words set forth in a report rendered by Sgt Maj. (WO l) (1) "Nash" Neary, who was at that time the Warrant Officer in charge of the Royal Canadian Signals Radio Station at Aklavik.
Canadian Army Journal 2/3 (1948)
"This meant that Johnson was now wanted on a further charge and Inspector Eames, RCMP, requested the Royal Canadian Signals personnel at Aklavik to broadcast a request to Constable Millen at Arctic Red River for him to report at once at the mouth of the Rat River. Meantime, the Inspector had been preparing supplies, etc., to take another party out, and this party, consisting of the Inspector, Constable McDowell, Trappers Lang, Garland and Sutherland, accompanied by two native guides, left Aklavik for the Rat River. Enroute, they picked up some dynamite in the hope of being able to blow a hole in Johnson's cabin should he refuse to come out. Constable Millen, having received the message, was awaiting them at the mouth of the Rat River.
Preferring to arrive at Johnson's cabin from above, and following the lead of a native who led them astray, two days were lost, the native leading them in a triangle around the cabin all the time, telling them "cabin only four miles." They made camp and started over the mountain on foot, travelling a distance or 14 miles before sighting the cabin. Trappers Garland and Lang circled the cabin and ascertained that Johnson was still there but, being on foot and having no supplies, they were forced to return the 14 miles to their base. Early next morning, the camp was moved closer and operations to entice Johnson to come out of his cabin were commenced. The only reply received was rifle fire from the cabin, which was apparently loopholed at all angles.
A glimpse at the interior showed that the cabin had been dug out to a depth of about two or three feet. It was quite small, the roof well-packed with earth about one foot in depth, and a small window about a foot and a half by three feet. Later examination showed that the base of the cabin had a double row of logs and earth packed in between it. Thus nature, freezing the earth, substituted frozen earth for concrete, the cabin presenting a veritable "pillbox". For 15 hours, during which the entire party had many narrow escapes, many attempts were made to have Johnson come out but without success, and the charges of dynamite being poorly prepared and unconfined, proved ineffectual. Supplies and dog feed, having run out, the party was forced to return to Aklavik.
The RC Signals broadcast station was again pressed into service and a request sent asking Dodman of the Hudson's Bay Company at Arctic Red River to keep operations moving with dried fish up to the mouth of the Red. A call was sent out asking for volunteers and, the National Defence authority had been obtained. QMS Riddell who has an enviable reputation in the north country as a hunter, traveller, etc., and Staff Sgt Hersey of the RC Signals, were gladly accepted by Inspector Eames."
What the above fails to mention is that the dynamite was thawed against Mounties' bodies and it was ineffectual only in that it failed to put an end to Johnson. Those Mounties DYNAMITED that cabin! They blew the roof of and collapsed an entire wall but Johnson was in his pillbox and unharmed. Here are the real details:
"On Jan 4, 1932, with 9 men, 42 dogs and 40 pounds of dynamite, a posse was determined to bring this fugitive in. Once their positions were secure on the cabin perimeter, the dynamite was thawed out by holding it under their coats close to their bodies.
The dynamite was thrown into the structure and a massive explosion ripped the roof clean off with one of the walls caving in.
As the Mounties entered the cabin to remove the corpse, Johnson stood up from a fox hole he dug firing 2 weapons narrowly missing both officers. A hasty retreat was in order again. After a 15 hr siege and food starting to run low they returned to Aklavik to contemplate their next move."
So, 9 men with 42 dogs and 20 pounds of dynamite, failed to put an end to this. Again the mounties "return to their post to restock". It is 47 below when they decide to "restock". In the meantime Johnson, abandons his mostly destroyed cabin.
"Twenty-one men, including 11 Louchoux Natives, return to the cabin on January 16, but this time Johnson has escaped, probably heading for the Alaskan border. With enough food to last them nine days, Millen, Riddell (a soldier), and two trappers, set out to find the elusive Johnson."
All of this has been picked up by Canadian radio. Folks are hearing updated reports of the coming chase, daily.
It is 50 below.
The Cabin:
Johnson:
Last edited by Gibson; 11-13-2012 at 03:05 AM.
More here later. I double posted.
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