Several thousand years ago in the region that is today called the Great Plains of the North American continent, some of the humans who roamed and hunted reacted to the natural changes that occurred in the game they relied upon. To successfully hunt the thousand-pound Bison antiquus, a smaller, thinner point that could be propelled with enough force to drive deep into the hairy beast was needed instead of the larger, heavier stone points that were used to thrust into slower animals. Today’s edition of bison (about 75% as large as their ancient cousins) can outrun a horse — every time. What was developed is still a wonder of skill to even modern flintknappers. It was smaller, thinner, and lighter, with a new shape for attaching, and often had a “fluted” middle on one or both sides. Although we can’t say for sure how these stone points were launched, it was almost surely with the use of the atlatl.

These were used in the middle of North America for a thousand years but remained unknown to modern man until the 20^th century. These ancient craftsmen were finally “exposed” when an amazingly accomplished ranch manager, born a slave, took note of some huge bones peeking out from the soil of an arroyo and stepped off his horse to investigate.

Only a few weeks past the 113^th anniversary of that day of “discovery,” I woke up in time to make coffee and have a cup or two by myself while watching a new day cast an unclouded light on the northeastern corner of New Mexico. To the south, the Capulin crater’s eastern side brightened, as did the two prominent peaks to its west. Ten miles or so due west, the light was just starting to climb up Johnson Mesa. I had driven in a little past midnight and spent the evening in the “bunkhouse,” built several years earlier to house hunters during the fall and parts of the spring. But there would be no hunters this year. My friend was out of the outfitting business, and I would not be guiding for him. But I was there for a few days to help with some matters that were close to deadline.

I headed for the house to start another pot of coffee and probably breakfast for the two of us since it was still a little early for him of late. Old rodeo wounds from years as a pretty good bullfighter woke up slowly these days, and there were no hunters to have out at daylight. A few slow mornings were well deserved, and if he was up, I expected it to be while taking a good, lengthy hot shower. But I was surprised to find him up, almost ready for the day. His long hair was still wet from the shower, and he was braiding it in the Plains Indian fashion he favored. He was already dressed in freshly washed jeans and shirt. His best wool vest hung on the back of a chair.

“We going to town or something?” I half-joked as I began with the coffee.

“We need to meet Matt and some guys doing a podcast down out at the museum. They want to be taken out to the site, and we’ll have to do it.”

I nodded OK and continued with the coffee. From experience, I knew this was not going to be a short affair, and the paperwork that was due in just two days would probably have to be done totally tomorrow. But I had never been to the site in question myself (in fact, few people have in recent years), and I was glad for the chance to visit it.

I knew pretty close to where it was. It had been pointed out to me. As you round the last curve climbing to the top of Johnson Mesa, you get your last full view of the landscape below. “It’s right back there where those three forks are heading into that drainage. You see that kinda white-looking patch on the edge of the cedars way over there? Down from there is where Wild Horse Arroyo is.”

In the beginning of those drainage patterns lies what has been called the most important archaeological find on the North American continent.

As I could have predicted, we were a little late getting to the museum sitting on the corner of what some might consider the only noticeable intersection in “downtown” Folsom, New Mexico. It is a large building, which in its day was both store and bank. It is the keeper of several stories important to the region. Matt and the podcasters were waiting for us. Matt was patient, being as familiar with my friend’s ways as I am. I am not so sure about the podcasters.

We walked in past the handmade sign by the door informing us that “Horses and Dogs not allowed in the museum.” I will admit that my friend was responsible for the perceived need of a sign but will add that the provision concerning dogs is pretty loosely enforced.

Matt is college-educated, just shy of what some consider middle age and, due to a rolled pickup at the junction at Tollgate Canyon where the road to Colorado joins the one following the banks of the Dry Cimarron River into the Oklahoma Panhandle, is confined to a wheelchair and bed instead of managing his families’ ranch holdings. But he is also a faithful keeper of his heritage and that of the area. The building housing the museum and a good bit of the surrounding ranch land bears his family’s name.

The discovery site was on the Crowfoot Ranch, which is now the Crowfoot division of a larger holding, and we were to meet the ranch manager somewhere around the old Crowfoot headquarters. The podcasters jumped in their SUV and followed my truck as we started the trip. Naturally, it did not come off as smoothly as planned. To begin with, my friend had never been to the site from the direction most took. He had left the highway and hiked in from the opposite direction. We had gotten to the old Crowfoot headquarters and not found Seth, the ranch manager. So, my buddy decided to strike out on his own and wing it. I had been through these “adventures” before and had an idea of what the next half hour or so would be like. The podcasters didn’t.

After a few trips over rocks, ditches, and gullies, I realized that those following had stopped about 100 yards behind and were waiting for us to turn back to them. The driver explained, “This is my wife’s car, and maybe we can ride with you while we look?”

So the two jumped in the bed of the truck as we continued the search. The ranch manager was finally found, and he directed us back to a point we had been to before, and from there we would follow him. We had actually been fairly close at one time. When we came to a creek crossing with a steep bank on both sides, I yelled out the window for my passengers to “Take a deep seat” since I didn’t have four-wheel drive on this truck and was to take the entire crossing at a considerably more brisk pace than Seth had done. Luckily, I didn’t lose a soul on the crossing, and in only a couple of hundred yards of weaving between cedars, we were parked in front of a high chain-link fence surrounding the “site.”

The relatively small plot is now owned by the state of New Mexico. The last excavation was done in the 1990s under the direction of Professor David Meltzer of Southern Methodist University. The only thing that would give any indication that this ground had any importance at all is a small ground-level cement marker poured by the Meltzer group and inscribed with a date written with a nail before the cement hardened. It is protected from the elements and roving critters by an old cast iron skillet turned upside down over it.

But before this “discovery,” the debate about human inhabitation of North America centered mostly around a date somewhere between 2,000 to 1,000 years before Columbus’ arrival. Finding a new design of stone point between the ribs of a bison that had been extinct for over 10,000 years changed the history of the continent forever.

But the story of this site is not just about some old bones and a few dead bison. It actually has three parts. And I hope you will be patient with me as I break it down over this and a couple more entries. Each has its own part to the story. They are the flood, the cowboy, and the mysteries of the kill site.

The flood was not the only time that Folsom, NM, flooded. The Dry Cimarron River begins high above the little town around the edges of Johnson Mesa. In those days, the river had a distinctive “horseshoe” bend when it got to the town. That has since been straightened out with a levy that takes what is normally a trickle of a stream past without entering most of the town. But those other floods only filled the streets for a little while.

Things would be different on a hot August day in 1908. It never rained in Folsom that day. But high above the headwaters of the Cimarron, a downpour of 14 inches happened in almost no time at all. A rancher telephoned the local phone operator in town, Mrs. Sarah “Sally” Rooke, to tell her that a wall of water was only a few miles above Folsom and heading that way at high speed. Mrs. Rooke stayed at the switchboard warning people to rush to higher ground until she was swept away herself. Her body was not found until much later, 14 miles down the Cimarron. A local saloon had a number of men sleeping it off in its loft, and the entire building was carried over a mile downstream. It is recorded that the men and most of the whiskey survived. Seventeen human lives were lost that day, but more than 40 people directly gave Sally Rooke credit for saving their lives.

When the Cimarron leaves Folsom, it travels eastward through a network of mesas and canyons. Just to the north lie the flat plains of Colorado. To the south are rolling lava-flow prairies. From the New Mexico line, the river will enter Oklahoma for a short time before crossing into Kansas and then Oklahoma again to eventually join the Arkansas just west of Tulsa. The Dry Cimarron area (so-called since the stream itself seems to disappear and reappear as it works its way toward Oklahoma) was an ideal cattle country. At the time of the flood, more cattle were shipped from Folsom than at any other point along the railroad line connecting Denver and Fort Worth. The flood changed that. But it would be the origin of even more important changes.

When the waters of the flood had receded, the ranch manager of the Crowfoot Ranch saddled up to inspect fences and any other damages. That brings us to the cowboy. I will have to rest these stubby fingers from the beating they have taken from the keyboard but will continue in a day or two. George McJunkin is a man worth knowing!

Part II is here.