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.