THE M A G A Z I N E - Desert Magazine of the Southwest

We found the
'Three Turkey'
Cliff Dwellings
By RICHARD F. VAN VALKENBURGH
Crumbling walls and foundations of literally thousands of prehistoric Indian
dwellings are to be found scattered over the desert area in southwestern
United States. Most of them are well known to archaeologists who have explored
them and preserved artifacts recovered from the ruins. Recently a Navajo
medicine man led Richard Van Valkenburgh, ethnologist in the U. S. Indian
service, to a group of well-preserved cliff dwellings not previously reported.
Here is the first published story of the rediscovery of these ancient
houses in an unnamed canyon in northeastern Arizona.
/ / IGH up in a wind and water worn
/ / cove in the precipitous wall of an
unnamed and unmapped canyon in
northeastern Arizona is a well preserved
group of prehistoric cliff dwellings,
which, as far as scientific records show,
have never been entered by white man or
living Indian.
My first hint of the existence of this
well-concealed habitation of ancient Indian
tribesmen came in 1934 when I was
doing field work in Canyon de Chelly.
With a party of Navajo companions, I
was camped at the base of a sandstone
wall across from where the well-known
White House cliff dwelling is located.
One day while we were lounging on
the floor of the canyon, catching the
warming rays of the winter sun, one of
the Navajos mentioned a group of houses
which he believed that no white man had
ever seen. He said they could be identified
by three large turkeys painted in
brown and white pigment on one of the
exposed walls.
When I asked him about the location,
he gave an indefinite gesture with his
arm which might have meant east, south,
west or north—and would talk no more.
I knew this man too well to press the
matter any further, but I made a mental
note that this was a story to be followed.
I was sure he was telling the truth.
During the next three years I made inquiry
among my Navajo friends, but
gained not a single clue as to the location
of the mysterious house with the three
turkeys.
Then, one day in June 1937, Avoo'anlh
nezi, an intelligent old Navajo medi-
cine man whose hogan is far back in the
large ponderosa pine area of the Navajo
reservation, asked me to furnish transportation
for a party of Indians who
wished to get red and white pigments
for the sand pictures to be used at a Male
Shooting chant—a Navajo "sing" held
for healing purposes.
With Avoo'anlh nezi as guide, we followed
the little-traveled road that led in
the general direction of Canyon de Chelly.
We soon left the sun streaked shadows
of the dense pine forest. Below us lay
miles of pifion and juniper clad mesa
land. In the foreground only the gash of
the high red walls of Canyon de Chelly
broke the green sweep of the desert. Far
in the background, rising in hazy blue,
stood the Blue mountains near Blanding,
Utah, and the Sleeping Ute close to Cortez,
Colorado. No wonder these ranges
are sacred to the Navajo.
We dropped off the mountain down a
steep and rutty wagon trail. The trail became
dim and soon we were bumping
across rolling tableland covered with
chemise and clumps of pifion. As we
traveled farther and deeper into the wild
country, the terrain became more broken.
Deep gullies forced us to leave our car.
A dim foot-trail wound through the
pinon pine ahead of us. My Indian companions
evidently had been over the trail
before. Within a half mile we came
abruptly to the rim of a deep canyon,
gashed in the floor of the tableland over
which we had been traveling.
Our path zig-zagged down a precipitous
sandstone cliff and led to a deserted
hogan in a little amphitheater formed by
the canyon walls. Surrounding the old
Navajo dwelling was a tiny meadow of
green and violet beeweed.
Then we climbed out of the canyon on
the opposite side and soon came to the
place where the medicine men were to
obtain their pigments.
The Indians got down on their hands
and knees and scraped the colored sands
into red and white piles. Then they took
flour sacks from their belts and scooped
up the pigment and placed it in their
bags. Soon these bright-hued sands would
be used for the picturization of Navajo
folklore. Avoo'anlh nezi, with the masterly
skill of a veteran medicine priest,
would be drawing intricate designs with
it on the floor of the hogan of a sick
Navajo.
With sacks well filled we took the back
trail. The day was warm and the Indians
perspired under the heavy loads they
were carrying. When we reached the old
hogan in the little meadow at the bottom
of the canyon we stopped in the shade to
rest and smoke.
After a while Avoo'anlh nezi took his
cornhusk cigarette from his lips and said
to me: "Hosteen, hidden around the bend
that lies under the red cliff one will find
the opening to a deep and narrow canyon
which leads to an old cliff house. Few
white men, if any, have seen this place.
The sun is still high—shall I lead you
there?"
I told him I would like to see the cliff
house, and we started immediately. We
were soon in a deep and narrow canyon
hemmed in by sheer 500-foot walls.
Clumps of mountain oak bordered the
N O V E M B E R , 1938 11