I suppose its presence didn’t constitute any kind of a mystery really, more like just a little curiosity. It was different, worthy of pointing out to a visitor, but was only a minor chapter in a much larger tale. Still, we thought it was kinda cool.
See, we have a piece of land in Colorado that’s no doubt seen some interesting chapters in human migration and settlement over the years. Many of you probably remember Bent’s Fort from the series Centennial, an adaptation of Michener’s classic, that aired a number of years back. Bent’s Fort is just north of our ranch. It’s soldiers, Kit Carson, and the settlers it protected no doubt have long tracked and traipsed across our place.
Our land is divided roughly into a series of plains bisected by a couple of rivers. There’s the Arkansas, the bigger of the two, and the Purgatoire, which the locals have bastardized into the Picketwire. Weaving through the caprock, it’s created some decent little canyons on our place and others. From the southern edge, we look across to the neighbors place where the scenes of Indians running buffalo off the cliff was filmed for Centennial. In fact, much of the movie was shot on their place and ours.
From the south heading north, if you know where to look, there’s a beautiful collection of Indian petroglyphs. Most are the kind you’ve probably seen yourself or have come across pictures of; the outstretched fingers of a single hand, the wavy lines of a snake, a swirl starting at a point and growing larger and many human forms that begin with the basic “H”, then add fingers, a head, etc. These are old. Many are themselves partially obscured by the patina they first chipped through. A couple are on huge blocks at an angle no one would ever carve at, the massive stony canvas having migrated some centuries back.
Across the river on some limestone cliffs are an entirely different set, both in age and the things represented. Most striking is the chisled image of a huge elk with a rack so massive as to invoke awe. From what I understand, on the ledge above the elk the local museum was allowed back in the 30s to collect artifacts that littered the ground. Story goes that they left with nineteen gunny sacks full of items, part of the seed that grew into what has now become theKoshare, a world class collection. Next to the elk are more human figures and a number of curious lines and marks, almost an ‘accounting’ if you will.
All these, obviously we’ll never know who took the time to paint, chisel and scratch them into the rock. A tribe and century is probably the closest we’d ever come. That’s okay, it almost adds to their intrigue.
Further north, near where we do our branding is a steeper cliff still. The last vestiges of an old rock wall show where a long departed sheep herder once kept his stock. A remarkably well preserved stone house still stands with three of its four walls and a chimney intact. And down the cliff, protected by an overhang is another group of scratchings altogether. The face of a cowboy in profile, from towering hat to his chest, greets anyone investigating the shallow depression. It probably was a good place to get out of the rain and affords a good view looking across the river valley to the far cliffs. Next to it is another cowboy’s profile, but this one has since been chipped away in large part. Curiously, the chipping doesn’t seem malicious, as it’s evenly spaced and leaves much below to suggest what was original. Down a bit further still though is the most striking of them all. Here, also in hat and profile is the best figure of all and he was kind enough to also scratch in a very legible bit about himself.
Claude Bromley
August 1, 1920
Compared to the Indian pictographs, Claude was pretty late to the show. Bent’s Fort had been abandoned some seventy years before and the Model A and T were by then available. We’ve always viewed these scratches as interesting and quaint, just another small chapter in a long, and unfortunately long-lost, history.
I was thinking about ol’ Claude recently, having just visited his art work this past Spring, and a thought struck me. I wonder if the new West might have something to say about the old. I wonder what a search on our Mr. Bromley might turn up. We’d considered his story lost to time, just another drifter and hired hand whose story was gone forever, but maybe that wasn’t entirely true.
After a little bit of searching online, I came across a description that I think works pretty well (edited for brevity)…
“CLAUDE ADAM “C.A.” BROMLEY OCNS - Archives - Claude Adam “C.A.” Bromley, 93, longtime resident of the Pawhuska, Oklahoma, area, died April 15, 1994, following an extended illness. Mr. Bromley was born May 2, 1900, in a sod hut near Turnersville, Texas, the son of Mr. & Mrs. Charles Bromley. He married Grace Branstetter Fink in Pawhuska on February 2, 1947. He was a member of the First Christian Church, a thirty-second degree Mason, a member of the American Legion, Lions Club and was a life-time member of the Cowboy Hall of fame in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. Although C.A. retired from Bareco Refinery in Barnsdall, Oklahoma, where he worked for thirty-nine years, he was in his heart a cowboy and an artist. While at Bareco, he ran his own herd of cattle and after he retired (from Bareco), he worked on ranches around Pawhuska and for many summers he was Chuck Wagon Cook on the 6666 Ranch in South Texas. Although he never had any formal training, he was an artist - his art was unique. He made perfect scale models of Chuck Wagons, Conestoga wagons and buckboards in minute detail. These wagons have been collected by many of the Cowboy Artists of America. He was honored as a lifetime member of the Cowboy Hall of Fame in Oklahoma City.”
It goes on to mention a sister in the town just a few miles from our ranch. I think we found our boy and I’ve done some more searching and sent emails to what I hope are his relatives in case they’ve confirmation or anecdotes to share. I also think it quite possible while Claude sat in that alcove against the cliff scratching his profile, that he might have been looking out at the chuck wagons and buckboards that he and the rest of the hired hands had brought in. Who knows, maybe he even started to do a little whittling right then and there.
It’s a beautiful little river valley and I’m not surprised so many over the centuries, maybe even millennia, have apparently chosen it as a place to find game, to winter over, to stop and build a home, to raise sheep and cattle, to brand, etc. A few even thought to leave a clue or two about themselves. I’m sure some of the stories have been poignant and some no doubt tragic. Even with what’s been written, handed down and collected though, what we know is just so enticingly little. I do wonder sometimes about just how marvelous and compelling some of the rest must have been and lament that we can’t know more.
