Cliff Palace, the greatest known cliff dwelling

INDIANS OF THE MESA VERDE

DON WATSON

Mesa Verde Museum Association
Mesa Verde National Park
Colorado

LITHOPRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA BY
CUSHING-MALLOY, INC., ANN ARBOR. MICHIGAN, 1953

CONTENTS

Part One
PEOPLE OF THE MESA VERDE [1. Echoes of the past] 3 [2. Discovery] 9 [3. Life in ancient times] 29 [4. Spring] 39 [5. Summer] 77 [6. Autumn] 97 [7. Winter] 117 [8. The end of the story] 133 Part Two
THE ARCHEOLOGICAL BACKGROUND [9. Origin of the American Indian] 141 [10. Archeology of the Mesa Verde] 155

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Cliff Palace] Frontispiece [North rim of the mesa] 5 [Rugged canyons of the Mesa Verde] 5 [Two-Story Cliff House] 15 [Cliff Palace, a busy city] 35 [Life in a cliff dwelling] 41 [Black-on-white pottery] 51 [Decorated and corrugated jars] 55 [Old men sit in the sun] 67 [A busy afternoon] 67 [Modern Indian cornfield] 79 [Farming terraces] 79 [Bone and stone tools] 87 [Corn drying on the roofs] 101 [The man who cut the log too short] 101 [Interior of a kiva] 111 [A kiva roof] 111 [Basket Maker mummy] 127 [A typical burial] 127 [Visitors entering Balcony House] 147 [An ancient style show] 163 [Basket Maker cradle] 175 [Pueblo cradle board] 175 [Small, high cliff dwellings] 185

PART ONE
People of the Mesa Verde

1
ECHOS OF THE PAST

Under the arching roof of a tremendous cave stands a silent, empty city.

For almost seven centuries it has stood there looking out across the canyon toward the setting sun. Proudly, almost haughtily, it has resisted the heavy tread of those slow centuries. Like a giant with a shawl of everlasting stone pulled closely about its shoulders it has stood with unbowed head, an eternal monument to the intelligence and industry of its builders.

Almost seven centuries ago the people turned their backs on their proud city and walked away. All of the forces of nature seemed to be against them. The rains failed to fall; the springs ceased to flow. No corn grew in the fields. At last, weak from lack of food and water, and bewildered by the failure of the gods to answer their hysterical prayers they surrendered to the inevitable. Sadly they turned their backs on the once happy city and walked down the canyon, never to return.

Cliff Palace, the crowning glory of the Mesa Verde, was a silent, deserted city.

In spite of the protection offered by the cave Cliff Palace has suffered from the leveling forces of time. The owls and pack rats have been careless tenants and the lack of repair is evident. Some of the walls have cracked; a few have fallen. Foundations have slipped; roofs have disappeared. The once-bright plaster is peeling from the walls.

These minor changes have failed to dim the splendor of the largest of all cliff dwellings. From one end of the cave to the other stand unbroken lines of houses. Story upon story they rise to the very roof of the cave itself. On a still higher ledge, far up under the cave roof, stands a long row of small rooms where the people once stored their abundant supplies of grain. In some of the houses paintings are still bright on the walls; in others footprints of the people are still clearly evident in the hard-packed clay floors. At each end of the cave is the trail which once led to the corn fields on the mesa top; below the cave is the trail that led to the bottom of the canyon.

In reality Cliff Palace has not changed a great deal since that day when its inhabitants disappeared. They walked away, it is true, but they are still there. You can see them if you close your eyes.

Unfortunate indeed, is he who views this ancient city and sees only the towering walls. Unfortunate because the stones are the least important part. Cliff Palace is really built of the hopes and desires, the joys and sorrows of an industrious people. It is not a cold, empty city for it is still warm with the emotions of its builders. In each fingerprint and tool mark lie the prayers of a young couple for a home filled with children and happiness. Each storage bin is chinked with a farmer’s prayers for a bountiful harvest. In each plastered kiva wall is an ancient priest’s reverence for his gods. A pot is not just a piece of baked clay: it is an ancient potter’s moulded prayer for beauty and strength. Each solid wall is a testimony of success; each shattered human bone, each broken jar is an admission of defeat.

Cliff Palace stands today as a monument to the ancient people of the Mesa Verde. For many centuries they occupied the great, green mesa and finally, almost in its center, they built their greatest city. Certainly it was their outstanding architectural achievement but it is only one of many hundreds of ruins which stand in silent testimony to the skills of an industrious people.

For over a thousand years the Indians enjoyed the security and bounty of the Mesa Verde. In the beginning their culture was simple but as the centuries passed they progressed steadily without taking a backward step. Finally they reached the highest point of their development and for the brief century during which they occupied the cliff dwellings they enjoyed the fruits of their long struggle. Then catastrophe came and in a short time they were gone.

The north rim of the mesa rises 2000 feet above the valley

The flat mesa top is cut by a score of rugged canyons

The complete archeological wealth of the Mesa Verde will never be known. The great mesa, which rises high above the surrounding country, measures fifteen miles from north to south and twenty miles from east to west. Its flat top, sloping gently to the south, is cut by a score of rugged canyons and access to the remote areas is difficult. The ruins are often hard to find and many will never be discovered. In the days of discovery, as we shall see in the next chapter, the early explorers entered almost every cliff dwelling but they left few records. In recent times it is doubtful if one-third of the cliff dwellings have been entered and probably no living person has been in one hundred of them.

The ruins on the mesa tops far outnumber the cliff dwellings but most of them are difficult to find. Earth and vegetation have covered them, often completely, and intensive search does not reveal all. This wealth of mesa-top ruins is indicated by a recent survey of a small portion of one mesa. Careful search of an area of only three square miles revealed over three hundred ruins.

In 1906, one-half of the great mesa was set aside as Mesa Verde National Park in order that the ruins might be preserved for all time and made accessible to visitors. Cliff Palace and some of the other cliff dwellings have been excavated and out on the mesa tops ruins of earlier types have been excavated to complete the archeological story. In the nearby museum are to be seen the things which have been found in the ruins. Displayed in their chronological order they tell the story of the ancient inhabitants of the Mesa Verde.

It is a fascinating story of a vanished people. For endless centuries they dominated the Mesa Verde, passing through higher and higher stages of culture. When an unendurable calamity forced them to leave they left behind abundant evidence of their skill and industry. With the care they now receive Cliff Palace, Spruce Tree House, Sun Temple and the innumerable other ruins will stand forever as monuments to the skill of their ancient builders.

Mesa Verde National Park was created to preserve the works of those prehistoric people. Slow, silent centuries have spread a cloak of mystery over it and visitors should come with open minds, prepared to hear an absorbing story of a strange people. Complete enjoyment and understanding come only to the visitor who is able to leave his modern self behind, momentarily, and live and think in terms of the past.

2
DISCOVERY

After the cliff dwellings were deserted by the Pueblo Indians late in the thirteenth century they stood, unmolested by man, for many hundreds of years. The owls and pack rats took them over and enjoyed their security, but from all evidence it was many centuries before men again entered the caves.

The Indians themselves may have intended to return when conditions became normal again but they never came back. There is no evidence that farming Indians ever lived in the Mesa Verde after its desertion by the ancient people. Other Indians came but they were hunters and they seem to have shunned the silent cave cities.

A couple of centuries after Mesa Verde was deserted an important event took place, an event that was to have a strange effect on it at a later date.

America was rediscovered!

Fifteen thousand years after the Indians discovered the continent from the west, white men entered it from the east. A new people blundered into the western hemisphere that had so long belonged to the Indians.

The newcomers were a greedy lot and they began to stretch acquisitive fingers in all directions. Mexico was colonized and tales of wealth among the Indians to the north led the Spaniards into the Southwest. In 1540, Coronado was only 150 miles from the Mesa Verde but he turned away. Other Spaniards came nearer and nearer until at last, in the year 1776, they were at the base of the great green mesa.

On August 10, 1776, only thirty-seven days after the signing of the Declaration of Independence, Escalante, a Spanish priest, camped in the very shadow of the Mesa Verde. It seems almost incredible that at a time when the colonists along the Atlantic seaboard knew nothing of the vast wilderness beyond the first range of mountains, Escalante and his men were here in the land of the cliff dwellings. Seeking a short route to Monterey, on the Pacific Coast, they had journeyed northwest from Santa Fe. At last, on August 10, 1776, they camped by a small stream at the base of the La Plata Mountains.

In his diary Escalante wrote:

“August 10. Father Fray Francisco Atanasio awoke troubled by a rheumatic fever which he had felt in his face and head since the day before, and it was desirable that we make camp here until he should be better, but the continuous rains, the inclemency of the weather, and the great dampness of the place forced us to leave it. Going north, and having traveled a little more than half a league, we turned to the northwest, went on a league and then swung west through valleys of very beautiful timber and abundant pasturage, roses, and various other flowers. After going two leagues we were again caught in a very heavy rain. Father Fray Francisco Atanasio became worse and the road impassable, and so, having traveled with great difficulty two more leagues to the west, we had to camp on the bank of the first of the two little rivers which form the San Lazaro, otherwise called Rio de los Mancos. The pasturage continues in great abundance. Today four and a half leagues.”

The small stream beside which Escalante camped that night is still called the Mancos. Only a few miles below his camping place it cuts directly into the Mesa Verde. The former inhabitants of the cliff dwellings had known it well. It had failed them during the great drouth. And now, on August 10, 1776, exactly 500 years after the beginning of that drouth which had caused them to leave the Mesa Verde, Escalante, a man of a new race, camped beside the Mancos, only a few miles from the empty ruins of the cliff dwellings.

Without doubt he saw the great mesa, the Mesa Verde, for it looms high above the Mancos Valley. But he turned away; he was seeking the sea to the west.

During the following three-quarters of a century many other Spaniards must have seen the Mesa Verde for there was much exploration in the region. Sometime during this period the mesa was given a Spanish name—Mesa Verde—the “green table.” The Spaniard who named it is unknown. Possibly he named it after climbing to its summit for from the valley below it is not so evident that the top is flat and eternally green. Could it be that he even saw the cliff dwellings and we have failed to find the record in the musty archives of Mexico or Spain? No, probably not. We must consider that the cliff dwellings were still unseen by modern man.

In 1848, the Mesa Verde, although still unknown, passed from Mexican to American ownership. Slowly the new owners drew nearer. The date of discovery of the now aged cliff dwellings was close at hand.

The first known mention of the Mesa Verde was made in the year 1859. In that year an exploring expedition set out from Santa Fe, under the leadership of Captain J. N. Macomb, to explore certain territory in what is now the State of Utah. Serving as geologist for this expedition was Professor J. S. Newberry and in his geological report he wrote:

“Between the Rio de la Plata and the Rio de los Mancos we skirted the base of the extreme southern point of the Sierra de la Plata. These mountains terminate southward in a long slope, which falls down to a level of about 7500 feet above the sea, forming a plateau which extends southward to the San Juan, the Mesa Verde, to which I shall soon have occasion again to refer.”

Farther on in his report he adds:

“To obtain a just conception of the enormous denudation which the Colorado Plateau has suffered, no better point of view could possibly be selected than that of the summit of the Mesa Verde. The geologist here has, it seems to me, satisfactory proof of the proposition I have before made....”

From the manner in which he spoke of the Mesa Verde it is very evident Professor Newberry voiced a name that was in common usage. This was true also of all the rivers and mountains mentioned in his report. Their names indicate the Spaniards had done a very thorough job of christening the landmarks of the region.

From Newberry’s report it is also evident that he climbed to the summit of the Mesa Verde. His description indicates he must have scaled one of the high points along the northern rim, possibly Park Point, the highest of all. He merely climbed to the summit, feasted his geological eyes on the thrilling view over 16,000 square miles of wilderness, and descended. He was only a few miles from the ruins but he failed to suspect their presence. He does deserve credit, however, for the first known mention of the Mesa Verde and for the earliest modern ascent to its summit.

The first American settlers entered the Mesa Verde region about 1870. Miners, farmers, trappers, cattlemen, even bandits, came pouring into the Mancos Valley and found it to their liking. None of them had ever heard of, or would have been interested in the ruins. To them the past was dead and forgotten; they were looking ahead. They were interested only in taming the wilderness and in keeping their scalps firmly attached to their heads.

At that time the entire region was terrorized by the Ute Indians. Naturally a war-like group they were goaded into a frenzy by the loss of their hunting grounds and they made life miserable for the whites. Adventurous miners and trappers were slain; farming settlements lived in constant fear of the merciless warriors. The situation became acute and soldiers finally were sent in to hold the Utes in check.

To the settlers the Indians were simple hazards to be expected in the conquest of the wilderness. They were merely to be brushed aside. If they resented the brushing process, if they showed a tendency to resist the loss of their ancient tribal homes, it was very unfortunate—for the Indians. The persuasive little leaden pellets of the settlers convinced one Ute after another that it was wrong to resent the loss of homes and hunting grounds. The remnants of the tribe sought refuge in natural strongholds, especially in strongholds where there was nothing desired by the whites.

One of these natural strongholds was the Mesa Verde. Its warm lower canyons had long been the winter home of bands of Utes and they were familiar with every nook and cranny in it. The deep, narrow canyons and high mesas offered sanctuary to the oppressed Indians. The settlers in the Mancos Valley respected this wilderness stronghold and it remained a place of mystery to them. From the time of Professor Newberry’s climb to the summit in 1859, we have no definite record of white men entering the Mesa Verde until 1874.

In that year a small party of explorers ventured into the forbidding canyons of the great mesa. The young government far off to the east was endeavoring to learn the extent and nature of its newly acquired possessions in the far west. Small surveying parties were being sent into all parts of the vast unknown land. One of these parties drifted down from the north and entered the Mesa Verde region in the year 1874. In charge of the party was Mr. W. H. Jackson, photographer for the U. S. Geological and Geographical Survey. Jackson and his men were not interested in the Mesa Verde, in fact they had no knowledge of its existence until men whom they encountered in some of the mining camps began to tell of a great tableland filled with mysterious ruins.

Jackson was intrigued and although he had little faith in the strange rumors, he decided to explore the Mesa Verde. His guide on the expedition was a garrulous miner named John Moss who claimed to have first-hand knowledge of the ruins. This chapter in the story of the Mesa Verde is extremely vague. There is no doubt that before the time of Jackson’s expedition some of the settlers knew of the Mesa Verde ruins. How much they knew is uncertain. Some of the early prospectors or hunters may actually have seen them. The Mancos Canyon afforded a natural avenue for travel through the Mesa Verde and in spite of the Ute danger, the intrepid adventurers may have used it occasionally. If they did, they could hardly have failed to see the many ruins that clung to the faces of the cliffs far above the river.

On the other hand, knowledge of the Mesa Verde ruins may have come from the Indians. In a little while we will see a friendly Ute Indian giving the white men their first knowledge of Cliff Palace. Perhaps John Moss and the other miners heard of the existence of the ruins from friendly Utes or Navahos.

At any rate, John Moss knew that there were ruins in the Mesa Verde, and in September, 1874, he led Jackson into the Mancos Canyon. The first night they camped on the banks of the river in the heart of the Mesa Verde. A century earlier Escalante had camped a few miles farther up the same stream. Six centuries earlier Indian maidens had filled their water jars from it.

No cliff dwellings had been seen and the men were beginning to lose faith in the stories of their guide. As dusk was settling over the canyon, the men stood about their campfire.

“Moss,” one of the men questioned, “where are those ruins that you have been telling us about?”

“Right up there,” Moss replied, with a swing of his arm that took in the whole out-of-doors.

Unimpressed, the men stepped away from the campfire and began to scan the cliffs above. In the bottom of the canyon they stood in the gathering shadows of twilight but far above the cliffs were lighted by the last dying embers of the setting sun. Suddenly the men saw what John Moss had not even suspected when he had said, “Right up there.”

In the topmost cliff was a cave and in it, standing out in bold relief against the shadowy background, were small stone houses. Moss was right—there was a ruin “up there.”

In spite of the growing darkness the men scrambled up the canyon walls. Just as total darkness fell, two of them entered the little cliff dwelling. It was the earliest known discovery of a Mesa Verde cliff dwelling by white men.

The next morning Jackson and his men returned to the ruin and photographed it. Two-Story Cliff House they named it because of a splendidly-built, two-story structure it contained. Excitedly they climbed about the small village, poking into every dark corner. In the debris of the cluttered rooms they found things that aided them in their wild speculations about the vanished people; pottery, corn cobs, stone tools—the Mesa Verde was beginning to give up its secrets.

Today Two-Story Cliff House still clings to the face of its cliff. It has changed little since Jackson saw it and few men have entered it since that fatal day when the Indians left it behind.

Long ago the people of Two-Story House were neighbors of the people of Cliff Palace, the great cliff dwelling toward which we are moving. To them it must have been a metropolis, a great city, the largest they ever knew. It took only an hour for them to trot up the canyon to the larger community. Often the men of the little village must have slung their prized possessions over their shoulders and set out for Cliff Palace on trading and gambling expeditions. It was “big town” to them.

Two Story Cliff House, discovered by Mr. W. H. Jackson, in 1874

When Jackson was at Two-Story Cliff House he was very near Cliff Palace but he did not see the larger ruin. If he had gone only four miles up the nearest side canyon, he would have found the amazing structure. But he was satisfied with the discovery of Two-Story Cliff House and other small ruins and a narrowly-averted clash with a band of Utes sent him scuttling down the Mancos Canyon and out of the Mesa Verde to safety. Cliff Palace was still unknown but the threat of discovery was coming nearer.

One of the early settlers in the Mancos Valley was Mr. B. K. Wetherill, a rancher. In the eighties he and his five sons were living on a large ranch at the foot of the Mesa Verde. It was a typical pioneer family but in one respect the Wetherills were very different from their neighbors. Throughout all of their years of residence in the valley they had been friendly with the Utes. Instead of persecuting them as so many of the settlers did, they befriended the helpless Indians who were rapidly losing the lands they regarded as their own. Indians were welcome at the Wetherill ranch and the bonds of friendship grew strong.

As a result of this friendship, the Wetherills began to run their cattle in the Mancos Canyon. At last, white men were welcome in the vast stronghold of the Utes. Deeper and deeper they penetrated into the network of canyons.

As they worked with their cattle the Wetherills began to notice tiny houses standing in caves on the faces of the cliffs. They even climbed to them and as they explored the little villages their interest and curiosity mounted. The houses were merely small stone rooms, evidently built in the caves for security. In the houses the boys found things the ancient inhabitants had left behind, even the remains of the people themselves. They speculated on the origin of their finds but there seemed to be no answers. The objects found seemed to have no actual value so they spent little time in the ancient buildings. Their cattle could not be neglected for the tiny houses in the cliffs.

An interesting tale came to the Wetherill brothers’ ears when they became acquainted with a Ute Indian named Acowitz. In some of the canyons, he told them, were cliff dwellings that were much larger than any they had seen. There was one cliff dwelling that was the largest of all. When he showed them how large it was and how many rooms it contained they were quite sure he could not be believed. No cliff dwelling could be so large.

Acowitz persisted in his claims. Time after time he told the Wetherills of the ruin that was the largest in the Mesa Verde. Dubious but interested, the boys began to watch the cliffs whenever their search for cattle took them into new canyons.

At last Al Wetherill thought he saw it.

He was following the bottom of a canyon in which none of the boys had ever been. Far above, in the highest cliff, he saw the arched roof of an enormous cave. Through the tops of the trees Al thought he saw houses; he could not be sure. Anxious to reach camp before darkness came he did not climb up to investigate. The boys began to consider the claims of Acowitz with less doubt. The cave seemed to exist; perhaps it did contain the largest cliff dwelling of all.

The following winter two of the Wetherill brothers, Richard and Alfred, and their brother-in-law, Charlie Mason, were again in the Mesa Verde with their cattle. Day after day they watched them, often riding the high mesa trails in search of strays. As they rode they remembered the story of Acowitz and the cave Al had seen. Before the winter was over they intended to find it.

One snowy December day in 1888, Richard Wetherill and Charlie Mason rode their horses up out of the Mancos Canyon and began to follow the trail of some stray cattle northward across the mesa top. Snow lay deep on the ground. Soft flakes filled the air. Silently the two forced their way through the heavy growth of pinon and juniper trees. Only the thud of the horses’ feet and the creak of saddle leather broke the silence. Near the edge of a canyon the growth thinned out and they finally rode out into the open.

“Charlie, look at that!” cried Richard, pointing across the canyon.

In the opposite wall was a tremendous cave. Filling it from one end to the other, and rising even to its vaulted roof, was a silent city of stone. No snow fell on the ancient city. No storm had touched it through all the centuries. It seemed as eternal as the ageless cliff that protected it.

Framed by the magnificent cave, a thin veil of snowflakes drawn across its face, the silent city cast a spell over the two cowboys. In all that vast wilderness there was no sound but the soft hiss of the snowflakes and the throbbing of the boys’ hearts. Speechless, they sat in their saddles.

At last one of the horses stirred and the spell was broken.

As the first flush of discovery passed, the two boys began to search for a way to enter the ruin. Riding around the heads of two small canyons they were soon above their goal. An ancient trail led down the cliff. Breathless with excitement, they walked into the cave and, as Charles Mason later recounted:

“We spent several hours going from room to room, and picked up several articles of interest, among them a stone axe with the handle still on it. There were also parts of several human skeletons scattered about.”

Once again the great cliff dwelling knew the touch of man. Six centuries after the despairing Indians deserted their home, two flushed, happy men walked into it. A new era had dawned, one that would see strange happenings in the Mesa Verde.

Excitedly the two cowboys scrambled about the ruin, prying into every corner, appraising the many strange things they found. Acowitz had been right; it was tremendous. They could never hope to find another ruin as large. Throughout its entire length the cave was full of houses; simple stone rooms with small, high doorways and few windows. Here and there among the houses were mysterious circular, subterranean rooms that the boys could not understand. At the south end of the cave was a four-story structure that touched the cave roof; in the third-story room was a beautiful painting in red and white. At the north end a terraced structure also rose to the cave roof; in it was some of the best masonry in the entire cave. On an upper ledge at the back of the cave was a long row of smaller rooms. In them the boys found corn cobs, tassels and shucks. Under flat rocks, where rats had not found them, were a few grains of corn and some brown beans. Instantly the boys knew the ancient people had been farmers.

In the center of the cave was a graceful round tower. Every stone in it was carefully rounded to fit the curve of the wall and the entire tower tapered uniformly toward the top. In the tower was the finest stone axe the boys ever found. But the use of the tower puzzled them.

The ruin was in a sad state of repair. Roofs had fallen; walls had partially crumbled. Courts and passageways were choked with fallen stones, adobe mortar and broken roof beams. Rat nests filled the darker corners and a mantle of dust and cobwebs lay over all. Out of this jumble the once-proud city raised an unbowed head. Only minor parts had fallen. The greater part of it remained as the Indians had left it. The crumbled parts spoke of age and the forces of decay; the unbroken walls gave mute evidence of the skill of a vanished people.

In order to see the great ruin as it was on the day of discovery we must go again to Charles Mason’s description, published in the Denver Post in 1917, for, because of its condition, he developed a strange theory.

“The final tragedy of the cliff dwellers probably occurred at Cliff Palace. There is scarcely room to doubt that the place withstood an extended siege. In the entire building only two timbers were found by us. All of the joists on which floors and roofs were laid had been wrenched out. These timbers are built into the walls and are difficult to remove, even the little willows on which the mud roofs and upper floors are laid were carefully taken out. No plausible reason for this has been advanced except that it was used as fuel.

“Another strange circumstance is that so many of their valuable possessions were left in the rooms and covered with the clay of which the roofs and upper floors were made, not to mention many of the walls broken down in tearing out the timbers. It would seem that the intention was to conceal their valuables, so their enemies might not secure them, or perhaps the people were in such despair that property was not considered.

“There were many human bones scattered about, as though several people had been killed and left unburied. Had Cliff Palace been abandoned, as has been suggested, and the timbers used in other buildings, all movable articles of value would have been taken away, instead of being covered and much of it broken and destroyed unnecessarily.

“It seems to me that there can be no doubt that the Cliff Dwellers were exterminated by their more savage and warlike neighbors, the men being killed and the women being adopted into the tribe of the conquerors, though in some cases migrations may have become necessary as a result of drouth or pressure from outside tribes.”

While it would be difficult to prove Charles Mason’s theory that “The final tragedy of the cliff dwellers probably occurred at Cliff Palace,” some of his other ideas were sound. The results of many years of intensive research by leading scientists show that he did a shrewd bit of forecasting when he suggested that “migrations may have become necessary as a result of drouth or pressure from outside tribes.”

After exploring Cliff Palace for several hours, the two cowboys, flushed with excitement over their discovery, decided to search for more ruins. Climbing out of the great cave, they mounted their horses and, in order to cover more territory, separated. Mason rode off to the north, while Wetherill went to the north and west. Mason’s search was fruitless but to Richard Wetherill goes credit for the second discovery of the day. After a short ride he came to a small canyon and, seeing no ruins along its western wall, rode around the head of the canyon and turned back to examine the eastern cliffs.

Immediately the discovery came. Within a hundred yards of the head of the canyon was a long, low cave and in it was another great cliff dwelling. While not as large as Cliff Palace, it was in a better state of preservation. This ruin, later named Spruce Tree House, has since proved to be the best-preserved large cliff dwelling in the Mesa Verde.

Night was approaching so Richard made no attempt to enter the ruin. Turning back, he met Mason at a prearranged spot near Cliff Palace and they camped for the night.

The following morning the two men set off to explore the ruin Richard had seen. Misjudging their direction, they turned too far to the west and within a short time found themselves on the rim of one of the deepest canyons of the Mesa Verde. The ruin for which they had been searching had eluded them but instead of being disappointed, the two men were elated. At the foot of the cliff, almost under their feet, was a third great cliff dwelling.

This ruin was not as large as the two they had found the day before but it was much larger than any they had seen previously. In the center of the cliff dwelling was a tower, the tallest in the Mesa Verde, and because of this outstanding structure, the cowboys named the ruin Square Tower House.

For a time the two men sat on their horses, looking down on the ruin and discussing their discoveries. During the past few years they had seen many small cliff dwellings in the Mancos Canyon and in other canyons to the south. Now they had moved to the north and in two days had discovered three cliff dwellings that dwarfed all the others. Off to the north and west they could see still more canyons and they felt quite sure that countless ruins were yet to be found. The importance of their discoveries was all too apparent, so without pausing to search for more ruins, or for the cattle they had originally sought, they hurried back to the town of Mancos and spread the news of what they had found.

Upon hearing of the amazing discoveries, John Wetherill decided to investigate for himself. With three companions he made his way to Cliff Palace. Near the south end of the ruin, just back of the painted tower, one of the subterranean rooms was in perfect condition except that the roof was missing. After cleaning it out carefully, the boys stretched a canvas over it and the room served as their home for a month.

It was a strange use for the ancient room. Six hundred years earlier it had been a sacred ceremonial room, a kiva, where reverent priests had conducted their ceremonies. Now it was merely a living place for men of a different race. The cowboys built their fire in the same firepit where the priests had built theirs centuries earlier. They stored their food and possessions on the same ledges where the priests had kept their ceremonial things. They slept on the floor, exactly where the tired priests had slept during their long ceremonies. The boys had no knowledge that they were profaning a place of worship. It was not until many years later that they learned they had lived in a kiva, one of the ceremonial rooms of the ancient people.

During the month they spent in the ruin John Wetherill and his three friends searched endlessly for the things they knew were buried under the debris. In the houses, under the dust and fallen roofs, they found the utensils and tools the women had once used. In the kivas they found the ceremonial paraphernalia and tools of the men. Everywhere were the objects that had been used in the daily life of the people. It became evident that the ancient people had deserted their homes, leaving in them the things they were unable to carry. Perhaps they had intended to return and had left most of their possessions behind.

Far back in the cave where there were no buildings the most exciting discovery was made. In this part of the cave the roof was too low for houses so the inhabitants had used it for a trash room and as a roost for their flocks of domesticated turkeys.

As the cowboys dug through the accumulated trash they suddenly found themselves face-to-face with the ancient Indians. For some strange reason fourteen bodies had been buried there in the trash. Natural processes had mummified them so perfectly that in some the normal expression of the faces seemed to be preserved. It was a thrilling discovery for there, except for two things, were the Indians. In only two ways did the mummies differ from the cowboys themselves. Only the moisture and the spark of life were missing. If they could have restored those two things the men would have found themselves confronted with the actual builders of the cliff dwelling they were exploring.

Centuries earlier sorrowing relatives had buried them there in the back of the cave. The dry earth and trash drew the moisture from the flesh and, finally, only bones and dried tissues remained. Nothing was missing except the spark of life and the moisture. Everything else was in place; the bones, flesh, skin, eyes, internal organs; all were there, only very, very dry. Long hair still hung about the shoulders of the mummies and in it were the mummies of ancient lice which had once formed a happy population.

John Wetherill found fourteen mummies in Cliff Palace. It was a fitting climax to his first venture in archeology. Of the five Wetherill brothers, John was the one who developed the greatest interest in the ancient cultures. For many years after his first work in Cliff Palace he was actively engaged in exploring the Mesa Verde and nearby regions and making their features known to the world.

It was a strange month the four cowboys spent in Cliff Palace in that winter of 1888-89. In the midst of a silent snow-covered wilderness they lived in and explored an ancient city that was unknown to the civilized world. Centuries earlier it had sheltered the Indians. Now it sheltered the newcomers. Untouched by wind and snow they pried into the secrets of the ancient people.

Within a short time after discovery the great ruin received its name. Some of the early writers gave Richard Wetherill credit for christening it but in later years John Wetherill gave the credit to Charles Mason. In all probability we shall never know who deserves the credit but we may feel sure the name indicates the feelings those early explorers had about the greatest of all cliff dwellings.

Cliff Palace was the name they gave it, an inspiring name for the greatest structure the Mesa Verde people ever built. It is not especially appropriate for the great ruin was never a palace. Instead, it was a small city, the dwelling place of hundreds of people. But the name was the choice of the men who first explored it and it reflects their feelings toward the ancient structure.

Now we must pause for a moment. The story of the discovery of the cliff dwellings would not be complete if we were to go further without admitting that there are some uncertainties. Many years after the events we have just witnessed were a matter of record, other men came forward with claims that they had seen Cliff Palace before 1888. Even the various Wetherill brothers did not agree entirely in their stories about the discovery of the ruins. As a result, there is a certain amount of confusion concerning the events of those early days.

But the two events we have just witnessed can be accepted without the slightest doubt. Jackson was in Two-Story Cliff House in 1874, and Charles Mason and Richard Wetherill were in Cliff Palace in 1888. No one has ever questioned the claims of these men.

Jackson was travelling with a scientific party sent out by the government. He photographed Two-Story Cliff House and other small cliff dwellings in the Mancos Canyon and in the following year published the pictures and descriptions of the ruins in a scientific report. So to Jackson goes credit for the discovery of the first small cliff dwellings of the Mesa Verde. If John Moss, who was Jackson’s guide, or other early explorers were in the ruins before 1874, no record has come down to us.

It is equally certain that Charles Mason and Richard Wetherill were in Cliff Palace in 1888, for they announced their discovery immediately. The account which has been given here has come directly from written records left by Charles Mason and John Wetherill, and from personal interviews with the two men.

In 1935, Mason visited the Mesa Verde for the last time. In spite of his 74 years he was active and alert and the events of the early days were clear in his mind. We drove along the canyon rims and without hesitation he pointed out the cliff from which he and Richard Wetherill had first seen Cliff Palace. For an hour we sat in the sun as he recalled the events of that day, December 18, 1888, when he and Richard had sat there on their horses, gazing in amazement at the great ruin.

“We had heard of Cliff Palace before we saw it,” he said. “A Ute Indian, named Acowitz, had told us about it and we had always hoped to find it. The Utes were afraid of the ruins because of the spirits of the old people that they believed were in them. If we wanted to keep the Utes out of our camp we just put a skull up on a stick and they wouldn’t come near.”

Remembering the problems they had with their cattle, he added, “Hunting cattle in those days was no easy job. They were as wild as deer and the country was rough. Once we spent a week chasing them and all we got back to town was an old cow and her calf. We shot lots of them like deer and packed the meat out.”

In 1932, John Wetherill visited the Mesa Verde. As we strolled through Cliff Palace he told of the month he and his three friends had spent there in 1888-89. He pointed out the kiva where they had lived, the spot where the beautiful stone axe had been found and the place where they had discovered the fourteen mummies. He recalled that all of the roofs had been torn out, just as Charles Mason said, and he remembered that they had found more baskets in Cliff Palace than in any other cliff dwelling.

Then, pointing across the canyon, he said, “That’s where Richard and Charley were when they first saw Cliff Palace.” The bold cliff at which he pointed is called Sun Point today, and it was from this same point that Mason said he and Richard Wetherill first saw Cliff Palace.

It is quite true that other men have claimed they were in Cliff Palace before 1888. Not a shred of documentary evidence has been found to support these claims, however, so credit for being the first modern men to enter the greatest of all cliff dwellings goes to Charles Mason and Richard Wetherill.

During the years that followed the discovery of Cliff Palace, the Wetherills and other men discovered hundreds of cliff dwellings in the canyons of the Mesa Verde. They found, also, that the mesa tops were dotted with additional hundreds of ruins. As a result of these discoveries the fame of the Mesa Verde spread and within a short time many men were digging in the ruins.

The period following 1888 is the sad chapter in the history of the Mesa Verde. From the very beginning it was apparent that digging in the ruins was a profitable business. The Wetherills sold their first collection for $3000 and the word spread that artifacts from the ruins had actual cash value. Charles Mason indicated this only too well in his article published in the Denver Post on July 1, 1917. The article was signed by four of the Wetherills and without doubt gives a fairly accurate picture of what happened in the Mesa Verde following the discovery of the ruins.

In referring to their second expedition Mason wrote, “This time we went at it in a more business-like manner. Our previous work had been carried out more to satisfy our own curiosity than for any other purpose but this time it was a business proposition.” And in referring to a still later expedition Mason stated, “In spite of the fact that all of the cliff dwellings had been worked over two or three times, we succeeded in making a very good showing.”

The Wetherills themselves took a number of collections of artifacts from the cliff dwellings. Most of these collections are now in museums and since the Wetherills kept notes on their findings the material has real scientific value. In 1891, Baron Gustav Nordenskiold, a young Swedish archeologist, excavated in a score of the cliff dwellings and took a splendid collection back to his homeland. Soon after his return home Nordenskiold died and the collection was sold to a museum in Finland, where it rests uneasily today. In addition to the Wetherills and Nordenskiold, many other men worked in the ruins and they probably carried away an equal amount of material.

As a result of all this early work the ruins were well cleaned out before the area was made a national park. A number of cliff dwellings have been excavated by archeologists in recent times and little material of any importance has been found in them.

Even though the Mesa Verde could only be reached by a thirty mile horseback trip, it was visited by a surprising number of people in those early years. Some came only to see the ruins but many came to dig and on the return trip the packs often bulged with things taken from the ruins. Priceless artifacts which had so long been unmolested were thoughtlessly carried away.

As a result of these visits, however, the fame of the Mesa Verde grew and finally public sentiment came to its aid. Gradually there developed a realization that the ruins should be preserved for all time and made accessible to all people.

The first effort toward this appears to have been made in 1886, even before the discovery of Cliff Palace and the other large cliff dwellings. In that year a group of Denver people called attention to the need for a national park to preserve the ruins of the Mesa Verde. Five years later the Colorado General Assembly addressed a memorial to the Congress and in 1894, two petitions were sent to the Congress urging that a part of the Mesa Verde be preserved as a national park.

As the years passed, the agitation continued but little was accomplished. In 1897, however, the attention of the Colorado Federation of Women’s Clubs was directed to the problem and a committee of fourteen women was appointed to spearhead the fight. Three years later the committee was expanded into the Colorado Cliff Dwellings Association, an incorporated organization dedicated to the struggle for the preservation of the ruins.

With grim determination the women worked, both with officials in Washington and the Ute Indians whose reservation included the Mesa Verde. After years of disappointments their efforts were crowned with success for on June 29, 1906, the Congress passed a bill creating Mesa Verde National Park.

At last, after six hundred empty years, the cliff dwellings were again in the care of men who were interested in their well-being. These men were of a different race and their feelings toward the cliff dwellings were far different from those of the people who had built them. To the ancient people the cave structures had meant home and security. To the new caretakers they were a milestone in the story of mankind and as such they should be preserved for all time.

3
LIFE IN ANCIENT TIMES

In a little while we are going to do a very strange thing.

We are, first of all, going to go back seven centuries to the year 1268 A.D. Then we will climb down the trail and stroll into Cliff Palace. Somewhere near the center of the town we will find a comfortable seat on the roof of one of the houses. And for a year we will sit there, quietly and comfortably, watching the people. We will take no part in the activities—we will simply watch the inhabitants of the town as, through the year, they go their daily rounds.

There is no better way to understand what life was like in a cliff dwelling. The ancient structures themselves do not tell the whole story, nor do the artifacts in the museum. The well-built walls and the skillfully made artifacts are ample evidence of the abilities of the people but these articles of stone, bone and wood do not tell us all we would like to know.

The real story is in the people and if we are to understand it, we must see them with our own eyes. So, after setting the scene, we will go back to Cliff Palace in the year 1268 A.D., and take our seats. And when the year has passed, we will understand what life was like in the Mesa Verde when the cliff dwellings were alive.

We shall select Cliff Palace for our experiment because it was the largest of the cliff dwellings: certainly it was the crowning achievement of the Mesa Verde people. To modern man it may seem only a village but to the Indians it was much more than that. Located almost in the center of the great mesa was the largest cave of all. In it was the greatest structure they ever built.

To the people it was the big town, the hub of their small world. In their eyes it was magnified by comparison with the hundreds of smaller cliff dwellings around it. To them it was a city, the greatest they ever knew. Certainly there could be no better place for us to see the life of those eventful days when thousands of people lived in the Mesa Verde.

Before we take up actual residence in Cliff Palace we should answer one question, a question that is asked very often. How can we know what was happening in a town that was abandoned almost seven hundred years ago? The former inhabitants have disappeared and they left no written records. How will we be able to see the intimate details in the lives of those people?

It is a good question. It is often in the minds of visitors as they walk through the silent city and listen to the stories that are told about the former inhabitants. Intimate details in the lives of the people are laid bare. Assertions are made for which there is no visible evidence. The visitor can scarcely be blamed for wearing a skeptical look in his eyes.

Our knowledge of the intimacies of the ancient life has come from a number of sources. Through intensive study, archeologists, ethnologists and historians have worked out the details that go toward making a complete story. From countless sources they have garnered the bits of information that fit together in jig-saw fashion to give us a picture of life in a cliff dwelling. Unfortunately, some pieces of the picture are still missing; here and there are rather large and distressing holes. In some lines of research, blank walls have been encountered and mystery still enshrouds some of the phases we would like most of all to see.

On the whole, though, the picture is rather complete. By fitting together all of the bits of knowledge that have been given to us by various scientists we can see very well the happenings in one of the ancient villages.

The archeologist has given us the general background of the people of Cliff Palace. Decades of research have revealed the development of the Pueblo Indians during their one thousand year occupation of the Mesa Verde. But the archeologist has gone even farther and, in a general way, has traced the people back through countless centuries to their original home in a far continent. We shall see this long story of development in later chapters.

Originally the people came from Asia, drifting into America across the Bering Sea. From Alaska they drifted south and, after endless generations, reached the Southwest. Up to this time they had lived as roving hunters but somewhere in the Southwest they met other Indians who were farmers. This new life appealed to them and, borrowing the precious seeds, they gradually became a farming people.

At about the time of Christ they moved into the Mesa Verde region and soon some of them were living on the Mesa Verde itself. At first their culture was simple but for a thousand years it developed. Finally it reached its peak in the thirteenth century when Cliff Palace and the other cliff dwellings were built.

In addition to giving us the background, the archeologists have given us the material details of the ancient city. Through their excavations the actual remains have been brought to light, studied and interpreted. When we walk through Cliff Palace we appreciate the tremendous overhanging cave roof that protected the entire city. We see the results of the physical labors of the people; the houses with their smooth walls and bright paintings, the storage rooms, kivas, open courts, narrow winding passageways, firepits, and in the back of the cave, the trash room where the turkeys roosted.

In the nearby museum we see the actual physical remains, the skeletons and mummies, of the people themselves. We see their clothing and their jewelry. There also are the utensils and tools; pottery, basketry, bows and arrows, stone knives, bone awls and needles, grinding stones, fire drills, planting sticks, stone axes and mauls; an endless array of things that were once in common use.

All of this has been given to us by the archeologist. He has shown us the long background of the people and has unearthed, restored and interpreted the actual material things from the ruin. To many people these things seem cold and inanimate. They seem dead; just stone, bone, wood and clay. There is life in them, though, for they are the expressions of the desires, ambitions, loves and hates of the people. Every single article was produced because of some human desire or need.

The person who keeps this in mind is able to walk through Cliff Palace, even today, and see the former inhabitants, for in the results of their efforts they still live. Many visitors forget this and do not see the people. Even the archeologist often fails to see them as he is a scientist who deals only with realities. Sometimes he can not see the people for the walls.

Historians have also contributed to the story of ancient Indian life. The musty records of the early explorers of the Southwest contain many extremely valuable observations concerning the Pueblo Indians. These the historians have ferreted out.

As early as 1540, the Spaniards began to enter the Pueblo country when Coronado traversed almost the entire area. Other Spanish explorers followed Coronado. Missions were established in many of the pueblos and for three centuries the Spaniards were in close contact with the Indians. Later the American explorers entered the Southwest and they, too, came in contact with the Indians. The chronicles of these explorers, both Spanish and American, contain many passages concerning the life and customs of the Pueblo people. Many of these early records have been translated and compiled and from them we gain knowledge of Pueblo life during the last four centuries. It is true that not all of the observations were accurate. Many were spiced with prejudice and deliberate fallacy but still they have been of value.

The Spaniards came into the Southwest less than three centuries after the Pueblo Indians left the Mesa Verde and drifted to the South. The Indians were still living in terraced pueblos. They were still farmers; corn, beans and squash still dominated the food bowl out of which each family ate. In a material way they had changed little, so it is safe to assume they had changed little in their social and religious customs.

Even after the white men arrived there was little change in the life of the Pueblo Indians until within the last few decades. For that reason the early records, when properly interpreted, add much to our knowledge of the ancient cultures.

Ethnologists have done a vast amount of work that supplements the labors of the archeologist and the historian. The ethnologist is a scientist who makes an actual detailed study of a group of living Indians. Every cultural detail is recorded and there have been ethnologists who knew almost as much about the Indians whom they studied as the Indians knew about themselves.

Some of the ethnologists have lived in the pueblos for long periods of time. In some cases they have been accepted by the Indians and have even been taken into the priesthood. An outstanding example was Mr. Frank Hamilton Cushing, an ethnologist who lived in the pueblo of Zuni from 1879 to 1884. He learned the Zuni language, was adopted into the Macaw clan and was initiated into various religious societies. He participated in the religious ceremonies, wore native costume, ate native foods and took part in the various occupations and pastimes. Before he left the pueblo he became the second chief of the tribe and was made the head priest of the Bow, one of the highest religious offices.

Such men as Cushing have given us detailed knowledge of the legends, religion, ceremonies, social customs and daily life of the modern Pueblo Indians. Since these Indians are descendants of the ancient Pueblo Indians, this knowledge has enabled us to answer many questions.

The person who walks into Cliff Palace and views a kiva for the first time has not the slightest chance of guessing its original purpose. It is absolutely remote from anything he has ever seen. But when he is told that these same strange rooms still survive in the present-day pueblos and are used as club rooms and ceremonial chambers, the use becomes immediately apparent. In the center of the ancient kiva floor is a tiny hole that has no obvious purpose. That same hole is still found in some of the present-day kivas and the Indian explains that it is the spirit entrance to the earth. Even the wisest archeologist could never have guessed that.

Without the help of present-day Indians it would be almost impossible to answer questions about such non-material things as religion and social customs. We can dig up the bones of a man, every bone he ever possessed. But who can look at those bones and tell how many wives he had? Some people think it should show but it doesn’t. In order to answer the question we simply go to the descendants of that man. Without doubt they still have the same customs.

From all this it can be seen that the ethnologist has added much to our story. Since the Pueblo Indians of today are the descendants of the Pueblo Indians of a few centuries ago, a thorough knowledge of them is the soundest approach to an understanding of the ancient people.

In using our knowledge of the modern Pueblo Indians in an effort to picture life in ancient times we are faced with an important question. How much have the customs changed because of the influence of the Spaniards?

As soon as the Spaniards entered the Pueblo country they established missions in the Indian pueblos. The native religion was suppressed and a new religion was forced upon the Pueblo people. In the Rio Grande area in New Mexico this foreign pressure was strongest and there can be little doubt that the native Indian religion and customs have changed to some extent. In the western pueblos of the Zunis and Hopis the Spanish pressure was not so great. Missions were maintained at Zuni only intermittently and among the Hopis for only a short time. As a result the native Pueblo religion and customs of these western pueblos have undergone less change and they will be used, for the most part, in our effort to picture the ancient life of the Mesa Verde.

As we move into Cliff Palace to spend a year with the inhabitants we must not forget the sources of our knowledge. First, we have the cultural background of the people, their rise from roving hunters to stable agriculturists; second, we have the great ruin itself and the things the people left in it; third, we have the interpretations of Indians who are descendants of the ancient people. All these will be added together to complete the picture. We must realize, however, that there are questions still unanswered: some problems will never satisfactorily be solved. But if we use the knowledge that has been gained and remain within the realm of plausibility we shall be able to follow the people very well as they go through their daily lives.

Now we are ready to turn back the centuries. We are ready to walk into Cliff Palace and live with the people. How better can we see the life of the ancient city? We will follow the men, women and children, as they go through the daily round of life. Spring, summer, autumn and winter will pass. We will see the work, the play, the dreams, the desires, the happiness and the bitter disappointments in the lives of the people. We will take no part in the activities. We will merely watch.

What year shall it be?

Seven centuries ago Cliff Palace was a busy, happy city of about four hundred people

It makes no difference as long as it is a good year, a normal year, with an abundance of snow and rain. That was the most important factor because of its effect upon the harvests. Tree ring records show that 1261 and 1262 were normal years, also 1265, 1266, 1267, 1268, 1269, 1271 and 1272. All of those were good years and that was the time when Cliff Palace was at its height. The people had been living in the cave for many years and the great city was surely at its peak.

Let’s take the year 1268. It is as good as any. It was a normal, happy year for the people of Cliff Palace.

Let the centuries roll back—it is 1268 A.D.

As we walk into Cliff Palace we find it at the very peak of its development. For generations it has been growing until now it fills the great sheltering cave. There are over two hundred one-room houses in the city; they fill the cave from end to end and rise in terraces to a height of three and even four stories. At the south end and again at the north end the terraced structures rise to touch the cave roof.

Scattered about the city are twenty-three kivas, the underground ceremonial chambers. Their flat roofs serve as courts where many of the activities take place. The roofs of the terraced houses are also the scene of much activity and throughout the city many ladders lean against the walls, leading from one level to the next.

To us Cliff Palace seems like a great two-hundred-room apartment house. To the occupants it is a city of two hundred houses, occupied by scores of families. Over four hundred people live in the city; they swarm about the courts and over the roofs like so many busy brown ants.

As we enter the city we notice immediately the appearance of the people. They are typical Indians. They seem rather short, the men averaging about five feet four inches in height and the women about five feet. They are heavy-set and as we watch them we get the impression that as a rule they are a short, stocky people. The skin color varies from light to dark brown; some of them are so dark they seem almost black. The eyes are also brown and the hair varies from dark brown to a deep lustrous black.

The people have broad heads and the back of each head is flattened, a deformity caused in infancy by a hard cradle board. The faces are broad and the cheek bones are prominent. Occasionally we notice “slanting” Mongoloid eyes. The people seem to have certain Mongoloid tendencies although they are not a pure Mongoloid type.

This town where we are going to spend the year is simply a large terraced apartment house built in a great cave. In the two hundred or more rooms live at least four hundred Indians, short, stocky, brown-skinned people whom we will know well before the year is over.

The centuries have rolled back to the year 1268 A.D., and we take our seats on a roof.

It is spring.

4
SPRING

Spring is a happy, joyous time for the people of Cliff Palace and there is much laughter and gaiety in the great cave. The bleak, uncomfortable winter is over; there is a feeling of freedom and broken bonds. Everything in nature indicates that a new year and new life are beginning and the people respond just as do the animals and plants.

The winter that is ending has been cold and even though the people became accustomed to it there was suffering and sadness. Many of the older people who were afflicted with rheumatism and arthritis suffered terribly and the children developed colds and other diseases against which the medicine men were powerless. Several deaths occurred in Cliff Palace last winter and there was sadness and fear in the cave city. These misfortunes were caused by witches, who are evil human beings with only one desire—to injure and destroy the people. Winter is the season when witches are most active so it is a time of fear and dread for the inhabitants of the town.

Now spring is here and the people are gay and lighthearted. Spring is ever a happy time for farmers for the miracle of new life never loses its thrill. Spring, the season of new life; summer, the season of growth and development; autumn, the season of ripening and harvest; winter, the season of suffering, death and sorrow. Then spring comes again and the eternal cycle has another joyous beginning.

In March the sun begins to be warm. During the morning, while still in the shadow, the cave is cold but in the afternoon when the sun creeps in, it is very pleasant. Some days the sun is actually hot as it beats into the sheltered cave. Chipmunks and squirrels, even the lizards, come out of hibernation to sun themselves on the warm rocks. The Indians do likewise.

As the sun begins to climb into the cave each afternoon the people come out to meet it. Uncomfortable winter clothing is thrown aside and soon most of the inhabitants of the cave are sunning themselves on the front terraces. Everyone is happy. There is much laughter and boisterous shouting. The aged men and women bring their rheumatic bones out into the warm sunlight and immediately feel new life. Gaunt old men, whose creaking joints have not climbed the cliff trails for years, get a new gleam in their eyes as they vow they will raise a crop of corn this summer. Aged women begin to twist their gnarled fingers as they dream of making pottery again.

The able-bodied men sit in small groups, dreaming and talking of the planting time that is coming. Wrinkled old priests assure them that it will be a fine season. All signs are right; the gods are smiling on their people. The women think of new pottery they must make, repairs they plan for their houses, and marriages they must arrange for their daughters. Young wives, in whom romance has not been dulled by too many children, playfully comb the lice from their husbands’ heads and dream of babies soon to come. Spring is a fine time for that.

Here and there young unmarried men lean against the walls, presumably dozing in the sun. But they are the busiest of all. Each one is endeavoring to catch the eye of some dusky young maiden whose full-rounded curves are causing her mother to think of a son-in-law. The young man’s eyes seldom connect; the ever vigilant eyes of mothers and aunts come between.

The really active members of the populace are the children. Some play on the trash pile in front of the cave; others scramble over the boulders that litter the slope below. Their rich brown skins flash in the sun as they endeavor to make up in one afternoon for all of the cold inactivity of the winter. Their shouts and laughter are mingled with the barking of their dogs and the gobbling of the turkeys they are disturbing. During the winter the turkeys stayed close to the cave but now they are scattered over the slope, nipping off the early buds and searching for the first insects of spring.

Not every March day is warm: some are blustery with the changeable weather of spring. A clear blue sky turns black in only a few minutes and heavy wet snow swirls into the canyons. The snow soon changes to rain, then a cool breeze swings down from the north and the rain becomes icy pellets of sleet. In a few minutes the clouds blow away and the warm sun shines again on a dripping, steaming world. Sometimes during the night, warm, wet snow falls, snow so heavy that its weight snaps limbs from the trees. The warm rocks and the bright sun melt it rapidly and often there is a roaring waterfall over the front of Cliff Palace cave as the water rushes off the mesa top.

Life in a cliff dwelling. Museum diorama of Spruce Tree House

The weather grows steadily warmer and winter is left behind. There is much activity in the city. Everyone is up at sunrise and the work of the day is immediately started. After several hours of work, breakfast is eaten late in the morning, then the activities are resumed. The second and last meal of the day, an early supper, brings an end to the day’s activities.

During the winter the cave became damp and musty; everything needs to be aired out. Clothing, blankets, robes and floor mats are spread out on the terraces and roofs to bake in the sun. The women tie small bunches of stiff grass with cords and with these brush-like brooms sweep the houses and courtyards thoroughly. Trash is swept into the back of the cave where the turkeys roost or out on the ever-growing trash pile which slides far down the slope in front.

Even the kivas, the underground ceremonial rooms, are cleaned and the walls are replastered to hide the soot that has accumulated. The men do some of the cleaning but women are often invited to help, especially with the plastering. It is considered a great honor for a woman to be chosen to plaster a kiva.

A major part of the spring work is the repairing of houses. It is work that never seems to end for repairs and alterations are always in progress in some part of the city except in the winter when it is too cold. Spring is the best time for the repair work as there is an abundance of water for the mortar and the home owners are filled with a desire to build and improve. Cracks are merely filled with mud and small chinking stones. Sometimes a small section of wall has bulged dangerously and must be replaced. Often the walls have been built on a foundation of loose trash and as a result, settle until they are in danger of falling. Such walls, sometimes entire rooms, must be torn down and rebuilt. Sometimes a house is deserted by its owners for some reason and gradually goes to ruin. As it crumbles the stones and the roof poles are used in the repairing or building of other houses. It is an endless cycle, this building and repairing of houses, and all stages of it can be seen in the town almost any time.

Most of the repair work is done by the women for the houses belong to them. When there is heavy work, new poles to cut or new stones to shape, the men help but even then the women supervise.

Very often, as is true among all people, the women change the decorations of their houses. A new whim stirs the housewife’s imagination and in an hour’s time the entire scheme is changed. The husband never knows what to expect when he returns from a day in the fields. Decorations are easily applied for they consist of thin layers of clay mud, spread on the walls with the hands. Sometimes the entire house is smoothly plastered with red, yellow, grey, brown or white clay. Other houses are plastered only on the outside; some only on the inside. Here is a house that is plastered half-way down from the ceiling; next door is one that is plastered half-way up from the floor.

Many of the walls are decorated with bright paintings. Red ochre makes a rich red plaster, while up on the mesa top is a layer of clay that gives a clean chalky-white color. When the two are combined, the effect is striking. Most of the paintings are small; the picture of an animal, a geometric design or perhaps just a band of color across a wall. In the center of Cliff Palace is a house that has a row of nine, bright red hands painted above the door. The woman who lives there placed her left hand on the wall and traced it nine times. Then she filled in the outlines with red ochre to produce the odd decoration.

Near the south end of the town is the most beautifully decorated house of all. It is the third-floor room of the great four-story tower, the tallest structure in the cave. The young lady who lives there is very artistic and all four inside walls are beautifully painted in red and white. The lower half of the walls she painted with red ochre. The upper half she covered with the chalky-white clay. Where the two bands of color came together she painted large red triangles in groups of three. Thus the edge of the red border consists of three triangles, or peaks, then a straight line, three more triangles, and so on around the room. On the white upper portions of the walls are geometric designs painted in red; parallel straight lines, parallel zigzag lines and parallel fringed lines.

The painting was cleverly done and the final effect is strikingly beautiful. The young woman is artistic in everything she does. Her pottery designs are the best in the city and she even wears her little yucca-string skirt at an artistically rakish angle. The men of the neighborhood often speak of her artistry. Their wives speak of her extremely poor cooking.

As spring progresses the weather grows warmer. The wet, heavy snows come less frequently and most of the days are full of sunshine. Sometimes sharp winds sweep off the snow-covered mountains to the north and cut across the mesa tops but the sheltering cave keeps them out of Cliff Palace.

As April arrives the effects of sunshine and moisture become evident. The grass is green, leaves are coming out on the shrubs and the earth is broken by the first tender shoots of myriads of growing plants. There is a damp, earthy smell in the canyons; the dank odor of rotting leaf mold, the heavy odor of wet clay. Through it all is the delicate fragrance of growing, budding plants. Back from the south come the first birds and spring is definitely in the Mesa Verde.

The earth-loving Indians are bursting with restless energy and everyone is busy. Sometimes the town is almost deserted as the call of spring draws them out of the cave. The cliffs echo with the laughter of small children as they play along the slopes and down in the bottom of the canyon. During the winter in the shadowy cave their skins became pale but already the spring sun is tanning them to a warm brown. Their hearts are light; they are like unrestrained little brown animals as they play the days away. They have fewer cares and troubles than the chipmunks and squirrels whose lives they make miserable. Each small boy carries a bow and each one knows how to set cord snares in the runways among the rocks. Sometimes a small hunter is successful and the cliffs ring with his exultant shouts as he brings a chipmunk or a squirrel or even a fat rat to his mother. At the next meal he is a hero and receives the choicest morsels from his kill.

Some of the older boys go out on the mesas for larger game. The wet, silent earth makes it easy for them to stalk the deer and mountain sheep that have never been alarmed by the thundering reports of firearms. At long range their flint-tipped arrows are not effective but they are clever stalkers and at close range the silent arrows are deadly. In the evening they return with their game. They trot proudly down the precipitous trails and through the city, hoping that the eyes of the maidens will rest upon them. But the soft brown eyes are always turned away—still they see.

Most of the men climb up to the mesa-top fields even though they are too wet to be worked. Their love of the soil draws them to their farms and they boast about the crops they intend to grow, or listen to the old men as they tell of the miraculous crops of bygone years.

Even though it is too early to farm, the men are soon busy. New land must be cleared to replace fields that have been farmed too long. The sagebrush and shrubs are pulled up or are dug out of the ground with digging sticks. Small trees are cut with stone axes but the larger trees are burned and in all parts of the Mesa Verde columns of smoke rise as men of the different villages clear the land. Usually this clearing of new land is done in the late winter and early spring when the cool damp weather makes it easier for the men to control the fires. If the burning were done in the summer, forest fires would result and vast areas would be rendered uninhabitable through loss of fire wood and logs for house construction.

The fields are owned in common by the village but they are allotted to the clans, which are groups of families related through the female line. The clan in turn allots the fields to its various households, or families. After a generation or two the lands farmed by members of a household seem almost to belong to it but the real control is by the clan. As long as a piece of land is farmed properly it remains with the household but if it is neglected or if the household dies out, the clan heads allot it to other households within the clan. Since the clans are matrilineal, with descent of property in the female line, a man farms land belonging to his wife’s clan.

In the early spring no one is busier than the women. Each day they scour the canyons and mesas for early plants that will lend variety to the diet. During the late winter the food became monotonous. Day after day it was cornbread, beans and meat. Principally it was cornbread and although it was prepared in a number of ways it became tiresome.

The early spring plants bring a welcome variation to this restricted diet. The green shoots of beeweed and tansy mustard and the first tender leaves of saltbush make delicious greens when boiled with pieces of fat and a dash of salt. Wild onions and juniper berries add an exciting flavor to a pot of deer meat stew. The puff-ball, a spherical, fungus-like growth six or eight inches in diameter, is sought eagerly after each warm spring rain. Toasted slices of puff-ball, eaten with a sauce made of salt and wild onions, are a real spring delicacy. Innumerable plants are edible and by countless generations of experimenting the Indian women have discovered their good qualities. They know exactly how to use each plant and new aromas rise from the cooking pots.

During the winter the people ate the monotonous food because they needed the nourishment. Now they eat for the joy of eating. Eyes gleam with anticipation as each family gathers around the fire in the late afternoon while the mother prepares the main meal of the day. There is cornbread, made in any one of a dozen ways. Deer meat is being roasted or boiled, or is bubbling in a thick stew. A pot of greens is stewing or a pot of beans, flavored with some spring plant, boils on the fire. A great pot of thin corn gruel, which will be drunk as a tea, simmers on its bed of coals. At last the food is ready and the steaming pots are placed on the ground in the midst of the family group.

As soon as all is ready the man of the family selects a sample of food from each pot; a few beans, a pinch of greens, a small piece of meat, a bit of bread, a few drops of tea. These he throws into the fire as an offering to the gods. Then the eating begins.

The only tools are the fingers and they are plunged eagerly into the food, hot though it may be. Chunks of meat are picked out and if too hot are held on a piece of bread. Bones are gnawed on, then dropped back into the pot as the fingers are needed for something else. Dunking is common and the bread is used to scoop up the thick stew. Toothless old men, becoming impatient, pick up the bowls and drink over the edge. There are long-handled ladles for dipping out the soup and broth, and stein-like mugs for the tea.

During the meal there is little talking; the accent is on the food. The only noise is the licking of fingers and the loud smacking of lips that express appreciation for especially succulent morsels. As the men settle back, swollen from overeating, they seek relief in deep rumbling belches, each of which is a pat on the back for the cook. No words are necessary for a slow rumbling belch is far more expressive. It speaks of a full, happy stomach, complete relaxation and sleepy contentment. Each belch brings happiness to the fond wife and mother and she smiles as she removes the empty pots from the midst of her gorged and sleepy family.

Darkness is still an hour away but as the sun drops behind the opposite canyon rim the chill of the spring evening creeps into the cave. Women sit by the fires, robes around their shoulders, and visit idly. The men and older boys go to their kivas to talk, to doze, or perhaps to gamble a little. The children, following the shouted directions of their mothers, gather the turkeys which have been feeding on the trash pile in front of the town and drive them into the rear of the cave where they will be safe from prowling night animals.

As darkness falls the day’s activities are ended and quiet settles over the city. Mats, skins and blankets are rolled out on the floors of the houses and soon the people of Cliff Palace are asleep. The quiet of the night is broken only by the snoring of tired men and the barking of a fox across the canyon. The tiny sliver of a new moon sinks behind the western mesa leaving brilliant, low-hung stars to watch over the sleeping people.

During the early spring one of the most important activities of the women is the making of new pottery. Very little was made during the winter because of the cold but much was broken. Numb fingers often let the vessels slip and now each woman needs to replenish her stock of water jars, cooking pots, bowls, ladles and mugs. The greatest need is for the large water jars. In the early summer there will be a long period of dry weather. For at least a month, possibly for two months, there may not be a drop of rain on the Mesa Verde. The springs will dwindle and the great pools in the bottom of the canyon will shrink. There must be additional stored water.

There are no wells or cisterns so water will be stored in the large jars. The women must make many of them, each one large enough to hold several gallons of water. During the late spring rains they will be filled and set away in small storage rooms that were emptied of their corn and beans during the winter. When the dry weather comes the stored water will be of vital importance.

The women of Cliff Palace make the beautiful black-on-white pottery that is typical of all the people of the Mesa Verde. They are proud of the graceful shapes and exact designs and each woman strives to excel her neighbors. All of the women use the same methods and there is a surprising sameness about their products. Each one varies her designs and no two pieces are exactly alike but all are of a standardized type. Each piece proclaims its Mesa Verde origin.

The women are very proud of their pottery and seldom swerve from the conventional type. Sometimes when the men go to distant regions on trading trips they bring home a few pieces of foreign pottery. Their wives compare this pottery with their own and are always satisfied. They feel that their wares excel all others and continue to make the same types their mothers and grandmothers made.

Pottery making is a long, detailed process requiring much skill and only after many years of practice are women able to make pieces of the finest quality. Each step must be carefully and thoroughly executed or the final result will not make a woman’s husband proud when he compares her pottery with that of the other women.

Two ingredients are needed for the actual construction; pottery clay and a tempering material. The clay occurs in a shale layer at the foot of the upper cliff of the canyon wall. There are many deposits, large and small, and each woman has a favorite place from which she obtains her clay. Up the canyon from Cliff Palace, at the head of the right-hand fork, is an excellent deposit that is favored by many of the women.

The nights are now without freezing temperatures that would render the digging too difficult so the women begin to make pottery. Early in the morning the potter leaves Cliff Palace and sets out for her favorite clay bed. She carries a large basket and a digging stick and is accompanied by any of her daughters who are learning the art. The clay is usually soft and easy to dig and she soon returns with a basket of blue-gray earth.

The clay is spread out in the sun to dry and all stones and foreign particles are picked out. After drying thoroughly it is ground very fine on a metate, the same flat stone on which corn is ground. It is now ready for use.

The tempering material comes from an odd source. The woman simply goes out on the trash pile below the cave and picks up a quantity of broken pottery. This she grinds up just as she did the clay until it looks like fine sand. This tempering material is very important for it keeps the vessels from shrinking and cracking as they dry. Many centuries ago the ancestors of these women used sand and grit for temper. Some still use them but most of the women use ground-up potsherds. They are just as good and are much easier to obtain. Year after year the broken pots have been ground up and used again. Some of the particles the women are using today may have been used by their ancestors centuries ago.

When the clay and the temper are ready they are mixed, about one part of temper being used to two parts of clay. With her fingers the potter mixes the dry materials very thoroughly for a poor mix will give the pottery an uneven quality. Finally she is satisfied and water is added until she has a thick, heavy paste that does not stick to her hands as she works it. After this paste has been very thoroughly kneaded, actual construction of the pot begins.

From the mass of paste the potter pinches a small piece. With the palm of her hand she rolls it on a smooth stone until she has a rope of clay smaller in diameter than her little finger and several inches in length. The paste is so strong that she can pick the roll up without breaking it. Starting at one end she begins to coil this rope of clay around and around on itself, just as a snail shell is coiled. As she adds each coil she pinches it to the last one with her thumb and forefinger. When the rope of clay is completely coiled she rolls out another and adds it to the first. Coil after coil she adds until the rough pot is completed. At this point it is merely a long slender rope of clay which has been coiled around and around, up and up, into the desired shape, each coil being carefully pinched to the one below. The spiral nature is very evident and hundreds of evenly spaced thumbprints remain as evidence of the pinching together of coils.

Black-on-white pottery
Ladle, double mug, mug and bowls

If a cooking vessel is desired the inside of the jar is smoothed carefully but the outside is left rough and corrugated. Nothing is to be gained by smoothing and decorating the outside of a cooking jar for it will soon be blackened with soot.

If a water jar, or a bowl is being made, the work is only half done for it must be smoothed and decorated. Very carefully the potter rubs the vessel until the inside and outside are as smooth as she can make them. The vessel is still pliable and by working with her hands and a curved piece of gourd rind she can correct the shape slightly to make up for any mistakes she made in the coiling. At last the vessel is smooth and shapely and the potter is satisfied. She places it in the sun to dry and begins to coil another.

After a number of vessels have dried thoroughly in the sun the next step begins. From the mesa top, where it occurs just under the red top soil, the potter has brought a quantity of white clay. A small amount of this is ground up and mixed with water until a white, soupy liquid results. This is the “slip” and it is painted over the entire surface of the vessels giving them a chalky, white covering. Before the slip has dried, each pot is carefully polished with a smooth pebble. Short, brisk strokes are used and the entire surface is polished until it shines. This polishing is a tedious but important step for the smoothness, luster and hardness of the finished vessel depend upon it.

At last the pots are ready for the decorations and this is the part the potter likes best of all. It is her opportunity to demonstrate her creative ability. On Mesa Verde pottery the designs are always black, a color that is made from a local plant. Tender shoots of the common beeweed are boiled until a thick, brown liquid results. Pottery designs are painted with this liquid.

Out of thin air the woman snatches a design. She has a fierce pride in her ability to create these designs for she knows that later her finished pots will have to bear comparison with those of her neighbors. No tracings or trial pictures are made. She merely selects one of the sun-dried vessels, notes its size and shape and develops in her mind a design that will fit it. Following this mental picture she paints the vessel with the brown liquid. The brush is a small piece of yucca leaf, one end of which has been chewed to loosen the fibers. Her free-hand strokes are swift and sure and soon the vessel bears an accurate, carefully-balanced geometric design. At this stage it is drab looking for the brown lines are not attractive.

At last, after many hours of tiresome work, the potter has a number of pots ready for firing. This is the crucial step and the excellence of the pottery depends upon its success. The pots are carried down to one of the lower terraces at the front of the cave and stacked in a shallow pit that has been scooped out. Over them the potter piles the fuel; wood, bark and cakes of rotting humus from under the trees. When it is ignited it burns and smoulders, subjecting the pots to an intense heat.

When she is satisfied that the pottery is well-fired, she rakes it out of the fire, polishes it with a piece of cloth or buckskin and her work is finished. The brown paint has been changed by the heat to a deep black that stands out in striking contrast against the light gray background. From the simple ingredients; clay, ground potsherds and beeweed, has come this beautiful, enduring pottery. It is the highest artistic expression of the Mesa Verde people.

As the potter finishes her work she places the finest pieces in a row along the edge of the terrace or on her roof for all of the women to see. The poorer pieces she puts back in the dark corners of the house where they will not be noticed. Out of the corner of her eyes she sees other women placing their pottery on display and she smiles with satisfaction as she notes that her work is as fine as any. There is much good-natured competition among the women and each one tries to out-do her neighbors.

As the spring progresses tremendous quantities of pottery are made. All through the cave women are at work and pottery in all stages of construction is to be seen along all of the terraces and in every courtyard. Spring is the most popular time for this task. The winter is too cold; in the summer water is often scarce. During the spring all conditions are perfect and the nimble fingers are busy until every household is equipped with an ample supply of vessels of all kinds.

Black-on-white jars and corrugated jar on yucca fiber jar rest

Occasionally, during the spring, a marriage takes place in Cliff Palace. When this happens there is much excitement and activity among the two clans affected. The clans are social divisions within the tribe. Each individual is born into a clan and that remains his social group throughout his life. In Cliff Palace, with its large population, there are many clans while in a small village there may be only one or two. The clans have very little to do with the religious life; they are a part of the social organization.

The pueblo society is matrilineal which merely means that the line of descent is through the women, not through the men. A child is born into its mother’s clan, never into its father’s. Property also belongs to the women and inheritance is figured through the female line. The husband lives with his wife in her house and his children belong to her clan. Marriage can never take place between two members of the same clan. This is a rigidly enforced taboo and the boy and girl must belong to different social groups. All of the members of a clan are considered as brothers and sisters, consequently there is little temptation to overstep this rule.

When a boy reaches the age of seventeen or eighteen and seems to be growing into manhood, his family begins to think of marriage for him. It is the responsibility of his elders to arrange this for there can be little happiness for a single person in a society of this type.

The boy himself has little opportunity for active romance. For some time he has been sending highly expressive glances in the direction of a certain young lady of a neighboring clan, glances loaded with question marks, flattery and many other signs from that most universal of all signal codes. Now and then an answering message flashes from her warm, brown eyes. In a very short while, and without a spoken word, an understanding grows up between them. Each would like to slip away to some quiet nook in the cliffs to take the matter up somewhat more directly but it is virtually impossible and decidedly unwise. The girl’s mother and her aunts have not missed a single one of those expressive glances. They do not disapprove in the slightest but they never give the girl a chance to slip away into the twilight. They may not distrust the girl but they certainly do not trust the spring moon that bathes the canyons in its warm, yellow light. Sometimes a young couple, unable to resist the call, does slip away into the night but it is very foolish. There is no secrecy in this crowded community and a twilight tryst never goes unnoticed. The juicy morsel spreads for Cliff Palace, being full of human beings, has its gossips. The marriage value of the young lady is lowered.

In the normal course of events the young man who has been carrying on the optical conversation with the young lady is finally unable to curb his emotions. He goes to his favorite uncle, or possibly to his mother and pours out his heart. Boasting of his manhood and his hunting and farming abilities he concludes that it is high time for him to have a home of his own. And he would like to marry a certain young lady.

Immediately a family council is called and the proposition is discussed at length. If the elders do not approve of the young lady, the young man is immediately squelched. There is no resisting the decision. The brokenhearted youngster will either nurse his sorrow until another maiden captures his fancy or meekly marry some girl whom his family selects.

Marriage is an important function and the union of strong healthy boys and girls is a responsibility that falls on the older clan members. Occasionally a headstrong youth who has allowed a deep, long-distance love to grow upon him rebels against a dictated marriage. In his heart, however, is an inborn, confident reverence for his elders and he is soon frowned into line.

If, on the other hand, the family council approves of his judgment, a delegation is soon sent to talk with the family of the girl. The virtues of the boy are extolled at great length and there is a mention of certain presents that the boy’s family will give to the family of the girl. The relatives of the girl tell of her virtue, industry and excellent health and let it be known that certain presents will be expected.

If the two families fail to reach an agreement the romance of the young couple is ended, but if they finally talk around to happy settlement, the next step is up to the young lady. Shortly after sunrise the next morning she goes to the boy’s house and for four days grinds corn in front of the boy’s mother to prove that she can do this most important work. It is a backbreaking task but she keeps at it diligently, knowing that her work must be satisfactory. At the end of the four-day period, the boy’s relatives examine the results of her labor. If the amount of corn meal does not please them the marriage is called off and the heartbroken young lady returns to her house.

If, however, they are satisfied with her grinding the marriage is agreed upon. It will not take place for weeks but there is much to be done. The boy and his family must get the gifts ready and it is the custom for the girl and her relatives to build a house.

In addition to presents which his family has promised to give to the girl’s family, the boy makes certain personal presents for his bride-to-be. He may make her a fine pair of sandals and may weave her a soft, warm feather blanket or even a beautiful white blanket of cotton.

The weaving of a cotton blanket may send him far afield. If his near relatives do not happen to have enough cotton on hand, he is forced to make a long journey to the south. The Mesa Verde people do not raise cotton and it is obtained by trade with tribes in the warmer lowlands. There are several men in Cliff Palace and other nearby cliff dwellings who are in need of cotton so an expedition is formed. These journeys are made each year and many of the older men are familiar with the route. Some of them act as guides for the young fellows who are going for the first time.

The Mesa Verde lacks certain important things; salt, seashells, cotton, turquoise and obsidian. In order to get these articles the men trade with other Indians who live to the south. Most of the men make occasional trading trips but some are professional traders who spend much of their time on long trading journeys.

For salt they must go to a salt lake 200 miles to the south. The salt is gathered around the edge of the lake, either by the men themselves or by other people with whom they trade. If the salt is dry it is carried home in bags but if it is gathered while wet, it is patted into balls which, when dried, are hard as rocks.

Obsidian and turquoise are obtained far to the southeast, near the big river. It is a journey of 200 miles to the turquoise mine but the deep blue stones are the finest known and are well worth the trip. Another source of turquoise is only 150 miles to the east, across the high mountains, but the Mesa Verde men seldom go in that direction. Hostile Indians live in the mountains and the parties do not always return.

Sea shells come from the great ocean far to the southwest but the men do not go all the way to the ocean for them. The shells are traded from tribe to tribe as they move inland. By the time the Mesa Verde men get them from Pueblo Indians who live to the southwest, the price is very high.

Cotton, which will not grow in the Mesa Verde because of the cool nights, must be obtained from other Pueblo Indians who live to the south and southwest. It grows well in the warmer lowlands and is one of the most important trade items. The men trade for the raw cotton fibers, usually, and weave them into blankets after they return home.

Trading expeditions are happy experiences for the men. They not only love to travel and meet other people but they love to trade. All along the route are villages of friendly Pueblo Indians and the travelers are honored guests in these villages. Traders are always welcome for they not only offer an opportunity for trading but they bring news from far countries.

The departure of the trading party is a gala occasion and all the people in Cliff Palace join to give it a noisy send-off. It is the first expedition of the spring so a great many men are in the party. As they start down the canyon, each man carries a large pack on his back. Most of a man’s burden consists of the things he will offer in trade when he reaches his destination. Perhaps he has tanned buckskin: the soft white leather has great value in the lands to the south where deer are scarce. He may have the skin of a spotted fawn he choked to death last summer. For ceremonial use the skins must not be pierced by arrows so the animals are caught and choked and such skins are excellent for trading purposes. Also, he may carry a number of large, highly-polished skinning blades made from a banded stone found near the Mesa Verde. This stone is well known over the pueblo region and the blades are highly prized.

In addition to his trading materials, a man carries his bow and arrows, a blanket, a small bowl and a little food. He will be able to kill rabbits, squirrels and rats along the way and almost every night he will stop at a friendly village so little food need be carried. A small amount of parched corn, some dried meat and perhaps a little corn meal of a special type is all he will need. The corn meal was prepared last fall for this very purpose. At harvest time the fresh corn was roasted, then ground into meal. This meal was thoroughly toasted and again was ground, this time very fine. The meal is so well cooked that a man need only stir it into a bowl of cold water to have a nourishing drink. The men know all of the streams and springs along the way so there will be no hardships unless they meet enemy people.

In two weeks the men begin to return and at the end of the month all are accounted for except a small party which went to the southeast for turquoise and obsidian. They are long overdue and at last the people give them up for lost. It merely means that they encountered a band of nomadic, warlike Indians and perished. Groups of savage hunters sometimes slip into the Pueblo country to prey upon the peaceful farmers and the pressure from these nomadic Indians is being felt more and more. There was a time, many generations ago, when the Mesa Verde people had no outside enemies and their villages were scattered over a vast area. At that time they lived in open pueblos out on the mesa tops and in all the broad valleys. Then nomadic hunting Indians began to drift into the Pueblo country. They raided the small villages, murdered the men, enslaved the women and children and destroyed the crops. In the border regions which were sparsely populated, village after village was destroyed by the raiders. As the pressure increased, the farming people deserted the valleys and the open mesa tops and for the last few generations they have lived in the cliff dwellings which they built in the caves of the Mesa Verde.

Cliff Palace has not yet been molested. It is in the midst of a large group of cliff dwellings and the population is so great the enemy people have not dared attack. But the men who have returned from their trading journeys have brought news of increasing enemy trouble in the surrounding regions and the people know the threat is coming closer.

This spring only the one party of traders was lost to the enemy. All the others have returned to the safety of their cave home and they tell of their journeys in great detail. They were received hospitably in Pueblo villages along the way and have brought home a good supply of the things the Mesa Verde does not provide; salt, turquoise, cotton and sea shells. They have also brought news from all the country to the south. Fires burn far into the night as the people listen to the tales from the outer world. The young men who made their first trip have become heroes and they make the most of the opportunity as they tell magnificent tales of the things they have done and seen. Most of them did well with their trading but a few gambled and lost, and have returned with nothing but their loincloths. That is not serious, however, and the great cave rings with laughter as the people torment the unfortunate gamblers.

The young man who needed cotton for his marriage blanket sets up a loom in his kiva and begins to weave. Older men in the clan help him with the spinning and the blanket grows steadily. The yarn is spun by hand until it is fine and even and the young weaver listens attentively to the advice of the older men as his weaving proceeds. This blanket is an expression of his feelings for the young lady and he makes it as nearly perfect as possible.

The bride-to-be is also busy for she and her relatives on her mother’s side must provide a house. The spot is chosen, either beside her mother’s house or on top of it and the walls begin to rise. The house will be the property of the girl and her wishes are respected but the real supervisor of operations is her mother. She is experienced in such matters and her tongue is sharp as she directs the many workers. All of the girl’s clan relatives help. The men do the heavy work of cutting roof poles and shaping the stones while the mortar work and plastering is the work of the women.

Stones for the house are not quarried. The men simply go out along the canyon slopes and pick up small rocks which are of the proper size, though of irregular shapes. As soon as a large pile is accumulated they begin to dress the stones. A few, well-directed blows from a heavy maul or hammer give a stone the general shape desired, then a thorough dressing with small pecking and rubbing stones gives it the final finish. The sandstone is soft and the men are skillful, so in spite of the simple tools the building stones are turned out surprisingly fast.

Mortar for the walls is prepared by the women. Gray clay is generally used and it needs only the addition of water to make a heavy, sticky mortar. The women do much of the work but they often call on the men for help. As the walls rise, prayer sticks are buried in the corners. These small, carved sticks are offerings to the Gods and assure the stability of the house. When the walls are as high as the builders’ heads, three or four heavy poles are laid across as main roof supports. Over these is spread a thatch of brush and withes and the roof is finished off with a layer of adobe three or four inches thick.

It takes only a few days to build the house if the builders are in a hurry but they seldom are. The house can be completed long before the boy’s weaving is finished, so the work is done leisurely. House building is a pleasant task. All of the close relatives in the girl’s clan work together and the hours are filled with laughter and practical jokes. There is much feasting and, of course, a happy celebration when the house is finished.

As the little structure rises there is a deep satisfaction in the hearts of the builders. They are helping a young couple reach their ultimate goal. To the home-loving people this goal is marriage, a home and children. Their lives point toward that end.

This tiny room will be home to the young couple for the rest of their lives. It is small, not over six by eight feet in size and the roof is so low that the husband will have to duck his head to miss the beams. The one door is very small, measuring only sixteen inches in width and twenty-four inches in height. The door sill is almost three feet above the floor and it will be awkward for the short, chubby little bride who is scarcely five feet tall. She will have difficulty straddling through the high opening, and will not dare grow too fat in later years. Older women often get so heavy that they can hardly squeeze through the tiny doors. But it has always been the custom to make the doors small and time-honored custom means more than the comfort of fat women.

There are no windows in the house and it has no firepit. Few of the women have fires inside their houses and cooking is done in the courts. Some of the older women who suffer from rheumatism and arthritis have fires in their houses but the smoke is very bad.

The final step in the construction of the house is the plastering. This is left to the young bride-to-be and she does it with loving care. A smooth coat of plaster, a few red designs and the house is finished. Her husband will come to live in it with her but it will always be her property. She is terribly proud of it. Being uncivilized she feels that her home and children will be the most important things in her life.

All of the houses in Cliff Palace are much like this one. They are small, simple rooms that serve principally as sleeping quarters and for the storage of possessions. Most of the activities take place in the open courts and on the roofs of the terraced structures so there is no need for large houses. They would be difficult to warm in winter and would reduce the number of families that could live in the cave.

After weeks, sometimes months, of leisurely preparation it is time for the boy to move to the girl’s house. He has finished the presents he will give to her, the house has been built and the two families have exchanged the presents originally agreed upon. There is no actual wedding ceremony. The boy moves his personal property; his clothing, weapons and tools from his mother’s house to the girl’s house. They are now husband and wife. Although he is only eighteen and she only fifteen they have entered the serious phase of life and must bear their share of the community responsibility.

The first few weeks of married life are difficult for the young husband. He is living in the midst of his wife’s relatives who are watching him critically. If he fails to fit in, his life will not be pleasant and the marriage may not last. Most marriages, however, are successful for the young husbands, being still pliable, are able to adjust themselves to their in-laws. In some cases the house is not built until the young husband has lived for a time with the wife’s relatives and is fully approved by them.

If the marriage is not a success, divorce is simple. Perhaps the husband decides it is hopeless, not because he does not love his wife, but because he can not stand her relatives. He simply picks up his personal belongings and goes back to his mother’s house. If the wife decides to call it off, it is equally direct. One day when he is out hunting or working in the fields she throws all of his personal possessions out of her house. When the husband returns, he cannot argue for all of her relatives are there to defend her decision. So back to his mother he goes.

If there are children in the family they remain with the mother for children always belong to the mother’s clan. They will be cared for by her relatives until she marries again.

In April a period of frenzied activity begins for the men of Cliff Palace. It will soon be planting time and the fields must be prepared for that all-important time when the precious seeds will be placed in the earth. The frost has left the soil and it is dry enough to be worked so each morning the men and boys trot up the trails to the mesa tops to spend the day preparing the soil for planting. The fields are scattered far and wide over the mesas. Most of the men from Cliff Palace have their farms nearby but some trot miles across the flat mesa tops to farm certain favored plots. These men who have descended from a thousand years of farmers have an uncanny ability to select the best areas for farming.

The fields are seldom large and they are never regular in shape. An acre here, a few acres there, they dot the mesa tops, the rich red soil standing out sharply against the green cover of the vast “green table.” The heavy snows of winter have filled the earth with moisture which will carry the crops through the dry, hot weather of early summer. Then the late summer rains will come and the worries of the farmers will be over.

Many of the men like to farm in the low draws above the heads of the canyons. There is deep, rich soil there and a concentration of moisture that produces the finest crops. Such draws are not large but they make excellent farming areas. The men even enlarge them by building terraces where the draws are too narrow and steep for normal farming. Low dams of stones are built across the drainage, seldom more than three or four feet high and twenty or thirty feet long. The heavy rains of summer wash rich soil from the mesas and deposit it behind the dams. Soon each one becomes a terrace large enough for a few hills of corn, beans or squash. Sometimes there are as many as a hundred of these terraces in a single small draw. In a dry year, when the plants on the mesa tops die from lack of moisture, these terraces usually produce a crop. Even a slight rain causes water to drain down across them and they assure a small harvest.

The early spring work consists of clearing the trash and weeds out of the fields and stirring up the soil for planting. Dead weeds are pulled out of the ground and burned and the first green weeds of spring are prodded out of the soil with digging sticks. Some of the men even begin to stir up the soil where they will later place the seeds. Corn is sometimes planted almost a foot in the earth so each hill requires a great deal of effort. The plants grow better if the soil is loosened up so the men select the spots for the hills and begin to dig up the soil and turn it over.

The only tool is a digging stick, a slender hardwood limb that has one end sharpened into a chisel-like blade. Small digging sticks may be only an inch screen in diameter and a foot in length but the large ones are sometimes three inches in diameter and five feet long. The upper end of the large ones is rounded into a knob that serves as a handhold and near the base may be a prong so the foot can be used in forcing the blade into the soil.

Sometimes a stone blade is attached to the digging stick. The stone for these blades is found down across the big river, forty miles to the southwest. That is a short easy journey: the young men make the round trip in three or four days and return with long slabs of stone. For days the men grind these on pieces of sandstone until a long thin blade, two or three inches wide and from six to ten inches in length, is formed. The stone is a light tan color, with thin bands of red and brown and it takes a beautiful polish. When one of these blades is bound firmly to a long handle it makes a very serviceable tool for turning up the soil and chopping out weeds.

While the men are preparing the fields the medicine men are watching the weather very carefully. It is their duty to set the planting date. There are countless signs they must take into consideration. The return of certain birds from the south is observed and the appearance and growth of spring plants is watched carefully. The clouds and the sky are observed constantly and the wind is tested many times a day. All of these things have a meaning. Countless generations of medicine men have developed a “weather sense” and barring occasional mistakes they are quite accurate in their predictions.

Old men sit in the sun and talk of better times

A busy afternoon in a cliff dwelling

The planting date finally will be set by the Sun Watcher, a priest who throughout the year observes the movements of the sun. Each evening, as planting time approaches, he stands on the roof of his house and notes where the setting sun sinks behind the western horizon. Each day it comes closer to a large crack in the opposite canyon wall: when it reaches the crack it will be planting time. The moon also is watched and the priests note with satisfaction that a thin new moon is climbing higher in the western sky each evening. Planting must be done while the moon is growing larger. The corn will then grow as the moon grows. If it is planted while the moon is waning the corn will wither and die.

In addition to setting the planting date, the priests must also perform certain ceremonies over the seeds that are to be planted. Spring is not an important ceremonial season for the men are too busy to spare time for the long, elaborate ceremonies. Certain rites must be performed, however, and offerings must be made to certain gods so they will smile upon the people. It is a simple form of “crop insurance.”

The fertility rites are especially important for unless the gods of fertility and reproduction are pleased, the seeds will rot in the ground without sprouting. Around the precious seeds the priests and their helpers perform the ancient rites. Year after year the ritual is the same; countless generations of priests have developed this elaborate formula that is followed in the finest detail. There is endless chanting, parts of the legends are dramatized, and there are offerings of prayer sticks, corn pollen, cornmeal and perfect ears of corn. If the ceremonies are properly performed the germ gods will be pleased and the seeds will sprout and grow well.

As the end of spring draws near everything is in readiness. The germination ceremonies are over and the fields are ready for the planting. The eager farmers await the nod of the priests which will send them scurrying to the fields to plunge the seeds into the earth.

In any normal year in the Mesa Verde there are several days of rain about the middle of May. The farmers like to plant their crops just before the rains come in order that they may get the greatest benefit from the moisture. If the planting is done too early, however, there is danger of late frosts so the medicine men are in a dangerous position. If they sanction the planting too soon, frosts may nip the tender young shoots, while if they hold off too long the rains may come. Not only will the planting be delayed many days but much of the benefit of the moisture will be lost.

Carefully, the priests watch the signs. The birds, the plants, the sun, the moon; everything goes through the regular progression of spring. The sun is moving farther and farther to the north and each evening the eyes of the people are on the Sun Watcher as he makes his sunset observations. At last the important day comes. As the sun sinks behind the horizon the Sun Watcher climbs down from his house top and hurries to the home of the Crier Chief. Immediately the Crier Chief steps out on his roof to make the announcement. The sun, he tells the waiting people, has reached the proper point; today it set directly behind the crack in the opposite canyon wall. It is planting time.

The next morning each man is off to his field at sunrise, carrying the various items of equipment he will need. The seed corn, only a small amount of which will be needed this first day, is carried in a pouch made from the entire skin of a fawn. The head and legs dangle grotesquely as the farmer throws the pouch over his shoulder. At harvest time last fall the finest ears of corn were selected for seed and ceremonies were performed to assure germination and growth. During the winter it was stored where it would be safe from dampness, mice and weevils.

In addition to his pouch of corn the farmer carries his planting stick, a plumed prayer stick and a small bag of corn meal. As he leaves his house, bowls of water are poured over him by the women of his household. This is symbolic of rain and will cause the summer rains to fall upon the crops.

Upon reaching his field the farmer goes to a well-known spot at the very center. With his digging stick he digs four holes, each one almost a foot deep. The first hole is north of the center spot, the second is to the west, the third is to the south and the fourth is to the east. On the west side of the northern hole he digs another which represents the sky regions and on the east side of the southern hole another which represents the lower regions.

In the center of the space bounded by the six holes he kneels, facing the east and with cornmeal paints a cross on the ground. Murmuring a prayer, he plants the plumed prayer stick in the center of the cross and sprinkles it with cornmeal.

Now he moves out of the central space and opens his bag of seed corn. Carefully he selects four grains of each color—yellow, blue, red, white, speckled and black. Returning to the central space, he kneels facing the northern hole and begins to chant. At the proper point in the chant he drops the four yellow grains into the hole. Shifting to the westward, he continues his chant and drops the four blue grains into the western hole. Chanting without a break, he goes from one hole to the next. The red corn is dropped into the southern hole, the white corn into the eastern hole, the speckled corn into the hole representing the sky regions and the black corn into the hole representing the lower regions.

Now the ceremony is over and he fills in the holes where the seeds have been planted. Picking up his pouch of seed corn and his planting stick, he plants four long rows of corn, each one starting at his little central plot. One row extends to the north, another to the west, another to the south and the final row to the east.