The Liar and the Spaniard
- Jody Slaughter
- Jul 23
- 30 min read
Updated: Jul 23
Season: 2 \ Episode: 2
In the spring of 1541, a Spanish army led by Francisco Vázquez de Coronado rode east out of New Mexico in search of golden cities. What they found instead was West Texas.
This episode traces one of the most ambitious—and disastrous—expeditions in New World history, from the jungles of Mexico to the staked plains of the Llano Estacado. You'll meet Coronado, the ambitious conquistador chasing legacy. El Turco, the captive turned con man who spun a lie bright enough to lure 2,000 men into the wild. And Isopete, the rival guide who told the truth no one wanted to hear.
Through burned pueblos, desperate councils, and storms that shook the earth, this is the true story of how a lie shaped a landscape—and left behind something far more powerful than gold.
Francisco Vázquez de Coronado (right) on his expedition to find the legendary Seven Cities of Cíbola.
Illustration by Frederic Remington.
A Spanish stamp with Cabeza de Vaca issued to celebrate the 400th anniversary of the discovery of Florida.
Estavanico, the Moorish slave who accompanied Cabeza de Vaca
Artist unknown.
Fray Marcos de Niza
Illustration: Jose Cisneros Estate.
Coronado’s advance into the Southwest
Illustration by Frederic Remington.
Coronado arrives at a Pueblo
Artist Unknown.
An AI rendering of what El Turco may have looked like.
ChatGPT
Coronado's Coming, 1934. Ben Carlton Mead, Oil on canvas.
Panhandle-Plains Historical Museum, Canyon, Texas.
A reproduction of a Quiviran hut
Coronado Quivira Museum, Lyons, Kansas
Artist's depiction of Coronado setting the dogs on Bigote, 16th century.
Artist unknown
Coronado's signature
SHOW NOTES
Cold Open: The Spaniard
A narrative portrait of Francisco Vázquez de Coronado as he prepares to lead an expedition out of New Spain.
Clad in steel plate and crimson velvet, astride a tall Andalusian stallion—Coronado embodies imperial ambition and personal desperation.
His mission: to claim the Seven Cities of Gold and secure both wealth and eternal glory.
But in the mirrored steel of his armor, we glimpse a different truth—one that ends not in triumph, but in dust, betrayal, and failure on the Texas plains.
Chapter 1: The Lost Cities of Gold
The Spanish arrival in the Americas stirs rumors of golden cities: Cíbola, Quivira, and beyond.
Stories from earlier explorers, like Cabeza de Vaca, describe rich and mysterious Native societies in the north.
Fray Marcos de Niza, relying on accounts from Estevanico, returns to Mexico claiming he saw one—Cíbola—gleaming in the distance.
His report sparks a frenzy among Spanish officials eager for wealth and glory.
Chapter 2: Coronado's Dream
Francisco Vázquez de Coronado is chosen to lead a massive expedition north from New Spain.
Over 300 soldiers, 1,000+ Native allies, 1,500 horses and mules, and herds of sheep and cattle form a mobile city of conquest.
After months of travel, the army finds not gold, but the modest Zuni pueblos of New Mexico.
After claiming the Pueblo of Tiguex as his base, Coronado's soldiers begin seizing food, homes, and women from nearby villages—fueling outrage among the native people.
When resistance erupts, the Spanish respond with overwhelming violence: slaughtering civilians, burning pueblos to the ground, and executing over 200 surrendered men at the pueblo of Moho in a chilling display of power.
Cold MIDDLE: The LIAR
A dramatic reimagining of a secret council in a Pueblo village.
Pueblo leaders, including Bigote, conspire to send Coronado’s army away into the plains.
El Turco, a native enslaved by Bigote's tribe, volunteers to spin a story of a far-off golden city—Quivira.
Their hope: lure the Spanish to their deaths before they return with reinforcements.
Chapter 3: El Turco
El Turco, a Plains Indian enslaved near Pecos, begins to speak of Quivira—a city far to the east with rivers of gold and towering lords.
Coronado, desperate to salvage his reputation, takes the bait.
Another captive, Isopete, tries to warn the Spanish it’s a lie—but no one listens.
El Turco’s charisma and calculated mystery keep the army’s hopes alive, even as the story shifts subtly with each retelling.
Chapter 4: UP the Caprock
The army strikes out across the Llano Estacado—becoming the first Europeans to enter the West Texas plains.
They describe a featureless sea of grass where riders can become lost even miles from camp.
Strange natural phenomena, extreme weather, and an absence of familiar landmarks terrify the army.
The expedition faces heatstroke, thirst, mirages, and the mental strain of isolation on the Caprock.
Chapter 5: Quivira
After months of brutal travel, Coronado finally reaches Quivira—likely in present-day Kansas.
What he finds is no city, just thatched huts and peaceful Wichita farmers.
There are no riches, no emeralds—only betrayal.
Coronado has El Turco executed for his lies, possibly strangled under a tree.
He returns to Mexico a failure, his name nearly forgotten by history.
Chapter 6: Legacy
Though Coronado never found gold, his expedition leaves behind something far more powerful: horses.
These animals would escape, breed, and be adopted by Native peoples.
Within generations, Plains tribes like the Apache and later the Comanche would master the horse and reshape the region forever.
The Spanish never ruled this land—but a new kind of empire would rise in their wake. The Comanche.
Listen to the Full Episode:
A Spanish army crosses the Rio Grande in 1541, chasing whispers of golden cities and rivers of emeralds. At their head rides Coronado, armored in steel and pride, with a con man named El Turco guiding them into the unknown.
This episode follows the true story of one of history’s greatest lies—and the desperate conquistador who believed it. From the shattered pueblos of New Mexico to the endless grasslands of the Texas Caprock, WTX: A History of West Texas takes you on a journey through ambition, betrayal, and the myth that nearly broke an empire.
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For maps of Coronado’s route, archival artwork, and photos from the plains he crossed visit wtxpodcast.com.
Join the Conversation:
What do you think El Turco’s real name was? Would you have believed him?
Share your thoughts, questions, or theories using #WTXPodcast or tag us on social media.
Further Reading
Glory, God and Gold: A Narrative https://a.co/d/9HFIZsN - Paul I. Wellman, Doubleday & Company, 1954
Heaven's Harsh Tableland: A New History of the Llano Estacado - Paul H. Carlson, Texas A&M University Press, 2023
Credits:
Writer: Jody L. Slaughter
Producer: Jody L. Slaughter
Editor: Jody L. Slaughter
Engineer: Jody L. Slaughter
Music by Gentry Ford and the Homeless Lobos
Contact:
Email: lubbockistATgmail.com
Twitter: @Lubbockist
Listen on:
Thanks for listening, and so long...from West Texas.
FULL TRANSCRIPT
The Liar and the Spaniard
COLD OPEN
He sat a horse like he’d been born in the saddle—the kind of seat you earn riding through jungles and deserts, where the conquistador was the apex predator and. A man who’d taken cities with fire and steel and kept the scent of burning villages in his armor.
Francisco Vázquez de Coronado was just thirty years old—tall, clean-shaven, with a deep, sun-browned tan that only relentless campaigning could produce. The men called him el Gobernador, a title reflecting his position as the appointed leader of this grand enterprise and the vast territory it aimed to explore and control. And he looked the part.
On the morning he led his army out of Compostela, he didn’t wear the dull mail of a common soldier. No, he wore a full suit of parade armor, a display of wealth and rank custom-forged in Seville. patterned with etched vinework and gilded edges that grabbed the morning sun and didn't let go. The breastplate curved high, a V-shaped ridge designed to deflect arrows and glancing blows from those foolish enough to challenge him. His shoulder plates were wide and ridged like seashells. His gauntlets were flared with brass lions’ heads. His boots, trimmed with red leather cuffs, brushed against his stirrups, as he surveyed the army he would lead into the unknown.
Across his chest hung a chain of gold, heavy, a gift from his patron, the Viceroy of New Spain himself. At its center: a locket containing a relic of Saint James, the patron saint of Spain and its conquests, whose intercession was believed to bring victory against all non-believers. His belt bore a Toledo-forged sword, its hilt inlaid with silver and a grip wrapped in crimson cord.
On his left forearm he carried a small, rounded shield, painted with the Virgin Mary standing on a crescent moon, a powerful symbol of his faith and the one he would soon impose on any savage unlucky enough to cross his path
His helmet was high-crested, polished to a mirror shine, with a hinged visor open to reveal his face. A plume of red and white feathers flowed from the crown like the spark of a lit fuse.
His horse was a stallion from Andalusia—black as burned mesquite, with a mane brushed to a gloss and a silver bridle glinting with brass. It pranced beneath him, spirited, restless, as if it too sensed the road ahead would be long and strange.
Coronado’s eyes gazed out over the land like it owed him something.
He carried a folded letter in a leather pouch at his side—a writ of authority from the Viceroy, granting him command over all the lands he would find. And somewhere beneath the leather of his saddle, folded small and well-worn, was a copy of an old friar's report from the strange lands he was about to conquer—the one that promised cities of gold, rivers of silver, and pearls the size of grapes.
He hadn’t come for glory.
He already had that.
But glory fades fast in the halls of power. It rusts like old armor. What he needed—what he still chased—was legacy.
And so, without a trumpet, without a speech, Coronado nudged his stallion forward. And the army followed.
West Texas was waiting.
INTRO
Hey y'all. I'm Jody Slaughter and welcome…to West Texas. Where the sky stretches on forever, and then stories are as vast and rugged as the landscape itself. Last time we went from prehistoric times all the way to the heyday of the Apache. Today, we'll backtrack a little to the first Europeans to set eyes on our little corner of the world - The Conquistadors.
It's a tale drenched with blood and lies, myths and discovery.
So kick off your boots, grab yourself a drink and settle in. Because this…is West Texas.
CHAPTER 1: The Whispers of Gold and the Uncharted North
The late 15th and early 16th centuries marked a pivotal era in human history, characterized by an insatiable European quest for new lands, resources, and, above all, wealth. Following Christopher Columbus's voyages in 1492, simple exploration rapidly transformed into an aggressive pursuit of conquest. Hernán Cortés's dramatic success in conquering the Aztec Empire by 1519 served as a powerful catalyst, fueling Spain's ambition to expand its dominion and uncover further riches in the vast, unknown territories to the north of New Spain. This period was not just driven by geopolitical aspirations; it was deeply intertwined with pervasive myths and legends, particularly tales of immense wealth, such as the fabled Seven Cities of Cíbola. These fantastical stories were not just idle whispers; they became potent motivators for monumental expeditions, mobilizing vast resources and human lives in their pursuit.
And where did the excitement kick off? Believe it or not, from four beaten-up survivors of Pánfilo Narváez’s (PAHN-fee-lo nar-VYAYTH) ill-fated Florida venture. In 1528, Narváez set out with approximately 400–600 men to tame Florida— they were shipwrecked, and only four made it onshore alive, washing up in Texas near Galveston Island. Those four— three Spaniards led by Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca (ahl-VAR NOO-nyeth cah-BAY-thah day VAH-kah) whose name means “Cow’s Head” in English, along with a Moroccan slave named Estevanico, wandered eight years up from the Gulf, across West Texas, into New Mexico, and down to the Pacific coast of Mexico near Sinaloa (see-nah-LOH-uh). They lived with tribes, sometimes as slaves themselves, traded furs and arrows, even healed folks. They learned languages and customs no European had ever known before. before finally making it back to a Spanish settlement in 1536. Their 8 year Odyssey across the Southwest would have astounded even Homer.
When Cabeza de Vaca finally staggered back to civilization, his Relación (ray-lah-SYOHN) - a report of his trials, became the first European account of these lands. He described pueblos (POO-eh-loz) brimming with trade goods, rivers running through mesquite forests, and the people he met. But here’s the thing—Cabeza de Vaca’s own journal never mentions streets paved with gold. All he mentioned was finding small gold ornaments—likely salvaged from wrecks, not city vaults—but those nuggets were blown up into full-blown golden legends. A mirage that would send generations of Spaniards charging into the unknown.
Estevanico (ess-TEH-vah-nee-koh), the Moorish slave who accompanied Cabeza de Vaca holds a unique and often overlooked place in history as the first person of African descent to explore North America. His experiences during the shipwreck ordeal, coupled with his remarkable ability to communicate and build rapport with various Native American populations, rendered him an invaluable asset to the Spanish.
In 1539, Viceroy Antonio de Mendoza, captivated by the tales of northern riches, commissioned Franciscan friar Marcos de Niza to lead a scouting expedition to locate these rich cities and map their locations. Estevanico was chosen as the primary guide. He traveled several days ahead of the main party, signaling his discoveries by leaving a trail of crosses.
Estevanico was the first non-Indian to reach Hawikuh (ha-WEE-koo), a Zuni pueblo that was understood to be the first of the fabled "Seven Cities of Cíbola". But, tragically, his journey ended there. Accounts of his death vary: some suggest he was killed by the villagers for perceived arrogance, perhaps for demanding turquoise and women, or for impersonating a medicine man. Others state he ignored warnings from Pueblo elders not to enter their village. Regardless of the exact circumstances, his grisly fate was confirmed when Coronado’s men later recovered his personal items.
Upon learning of Estevanico's death at Hawikuh, Fray Marcos reportedly "feared getting too close" to the Zuni pueblos. He claimed to have viewed them "at a distance shimmering in the heat and sunlight". Despite this limited observation, he returned to New Spain and produced a report of his findings. In it, Fray Marcos claimed to have seen "Seven very large cities... with large stone houses, some multiple stories high, and abundant turquoises". He further embellished his account, speaking of "huge pearls and emeralds" and people who "ate off of gold and silver plates," even comparing Cíbola's population to that of Mexico City.
Fray Marcos’ report spread far and wide, eventually reaching an upstart conquistador named Coronado, hoping to etch his name permanently in the history of his people. The stage was now set for one of the most ambitious land-based explorations in the history of the New World.
CHAPTER 2: THE ARMY
Francisco Vásquez de Coronado, born in Salamanca, Spain, in 1510, hailed from a noble family and, through his connections, had already secured a governorship in Nueva Galicia. Fueled by Fray Marcos de Niza's glowing, albeit exaggerated, report of Cíbola's riches, Viceroy Mendoza entrusted Coronado with the monumental task of finding these fabled Seven Cities. Coronado himself was so convinced by the tales of immense wealth that he volunteered to personally finance a significant portion of the expedition.
Coronado's expedition, which departed from Compostela on Mexico's west coast in February 1540, was a colossal undertaking. It was designed to be a self-sufficient, mobile city, capable of traversing vast, unknown territories. The force comprised approximately 350 Spanish soldiers, with over two-thirds of them mounted, providing a formidable cavalry. Crucially, the expedition also included a much larger contingent of 2,000 indigenous allies from various Mexican ethnic groups like the Aztec. These warriors formed the bulk of the fighting force, bringing their own weaponry and traditions. Additionally, the expedition included numerous servants and slaves. Fray Marcos, of course, was pressed into service as well to guide the expedition.
The logistical scale of this endeavor was immense, reflecting the Spanish empire's willingness to commit significant resources based on speculative wealth. The expedition brought with it approximately 1,500 horses and mules for transportation and warfare, along with thousands of sheep, and a considerable number of cattle and pigs to sustain the large company. This massive caravan was a testament to the ambition driving the quest for gold.
The arduous journey north followed a route roughly paralleling the west coast of Mexico, through Sinaloa and Sonora, with the Zuni villages as their ultimate destination. The trek was long and demanding, but the persistent promise of immense wealth kept the expedition moving forward.
In early July 1540, Coronado's advance guard finally reached Hawikuh, the Zuni pueblo that Fray Marcos had described, located in what is now western New Mexico near the Arizona border. This was the moment of truth, the culmination of years of rumors and months of arduous travel, as they stood before the first of the fabled "Seven Cities of Cíbola". The Zuni people, aware of the approaching foreign force, resisted the Spanish encroachment. They met Coronado's recitation of the Requerimiento—the Spanish demand for submission—with arrows, but their resistance was ultimately overpowered by the superior firepower of Spanish guns.
Once inside Hawikuh, the Spanish were confronted with a stark and profoundly disappointing reality. The town "did not come close to matching Fray Marcos's glowing description of wealth and riches". Instead of the "marvellous cities exceeding in wealth and grandeur" that had been promised, they found "only the Indian pueblo villages of Zuni". One chronicler of the expedition vividly described it as "a little, crowded village, looking as if it had been crumpled all up together," with small houses that appeared far less impressive than the haciendas back in New Spain. The dream of golden cities evaporated into the harsh light of reality.
While the main army settled into bitter disappointment at Zuni, Coronado sent a small scouting party westward in hopes of salvaging something—anything—of value. Led by García López de Cárdenas, they stumbled upon a vast chasm so immense, so utterly alien, that the men believed it to be some kind of divine wound in the earth. They had found what we now know as the Grand Canyon, the first Europeans to lay eyes on it. But it was no golden city. Just another magnificent void. Too deep to cross. Too distant to matter. So they turned back. One of the greatest natural wonders on the continent… dismissed as a useless hole in the ground.
The immediate realization that the tales of gold and jewels were false led to widespread anger and disillusionment among the Spanish ranks. Coronado, frustrated by the absence of the promised riches, acted swiftly and decisively. He promptly sent Fray Marcos de Niza, back to Mexico "in disgrace.” This initial disappointment quickly transformed into a new imperative: the expedition's focus pivoted from finding mythical gold to forcibly acquiring the necessary resources to sustain its massive army. There may not be any gold here, but it was out there somewhere. For now, there was land to be claimed and souls to be saved. That would have to do, for now.
After seizing Hawikuh, Coronado's army rapidly "devoured the pueblo's food reserves within a few months". With the onset of winter looming and the critical need to sustain over 2,000 people—a massive undertaking for any army, let alone one deep in unfamiliar territory —Coronado received intelligence of prosperous farming villages situated along the Rio Grande. Consequently, in late 1540 he relocated his headquarters to the Tiguex pueblos, just north of present-day Albuquerque.
Initially, the Spanish attempted to barter for supplies with the Tiwa people. However, as the needs of the large expedition grew, their methods quickly shifted. They increasingly "took whatever they wanted or needed" from the indigenous communities. This appropriation included vital food stores, warm clothing, and, tragically, even women. Furthermore, the Spanish livestock, numbering in the thousands, grazed freely in the Tiwa fields, consuming corn stalks that the indigenous people desperately needed for winter fuel.
The final provocation for the Tiwa people came with the assault of a Pueblo woman by a Spanish soldier. In a desperate act of retaliation, the Tiwa killed 50 Spanish horses and mules. Coronado responded to this act of defiance by formally declaring a brutal war of "fire and blood".
The Tiguex War, which raged from December 1540 to March 1541, holds the grim distinction of being the first named war between Europeans and Native Americans in what is now the United States.
Spanish tactics during the conflict were characterized by "immediate, fierce violence". They launched devastating attacks on pueblos such as at Arenal, killing all defenders, including burning 30 Tiwas alive at the stake despite their attempts to surrender. The Tiwa defended themselves by barricading within their multi-storied adobe villages, firing arrows from rooftops and loopholes. However, the Spanish, with their superior weaponry, horses, and overwhelming numbers, systematically scaled walls, set fires to drive the Tiwa into the open, and then easily preyed upon them with their cavalry.
By March 1541, the Tiguex War had concluded. Hundreds of Tiwa people were killed, and many of their villages were burned or abandoned. Despite their fierce resistance, the Native Americans achieved little against the might of the Spanish forces. The Tiwa, their numbers drastically reduced, with many forced to flee into the mountains away from their homes, came to fully understand the "implacable foe in their midst".
Cold Middle
To the west, across the valley, a black column of smoke twisted into the morning sky. Another pueblo was burning.
The Spanish had come in the night. Kicked in doors. Taken what they wanted. Set fire to what they didn't.
At Cicúique—a Pueblo at the headwaters of the Pecos river—the people said nothing. But they watched. From rooftops. From doorways. From the shadows of adobe walls. They had seen what happened to those who resisted.
So they had welcomed them as honored guests.
Down in the plaza, Coronado’s soldiers laughed around their cookfires, their armor catching the light. Their horses chewed through the last of the corn stubble. Their dogs sniffed the corners of homes. A boy snuck peaks at their shimmering steel swords and long muskets, terrified yet…awestruck. A woman scrubbed blood from clothing behind her house. No one dared ask where it came from.
They were not guests anymore.
In a quiet room beneath the kiva - their sacred gathering place - the elders met.
Bigote—the old one with graying braids and the thick mustache the Spaniards named him for—sat near the firepit, his eyes heavy-lidded. Near his feet, a few of his small, wiry dogs dozed in the dust. He hadn’t said much since the Spanish arrived. But when he did, people listened.
The others waited. War chiefs. Clan mothers. Runners from nearby pueblos. No one dared speak first.
Then a young man broke the silence.
“They took Arenal. Burned it. The people who surrendered—dead just the same.”
Another elder spoke.
“If we fight them, we die. If we feed them, we starve.”
The old eyes turned toward a man sitting in the shadows. His hands bound by rawhide. He'd been captured a few weeks earlier. A Plains Indian. A stranger.
Bigote leaned forward, voice low and rough.
“You say you are from the grasslands.”
The stranger nodded. “I am.”
“Can you lead them away from here?”
“I can, but why should I help my enemies? You have imprisoned me here.”
“You have greater enemies than us. You have seen what these savages do. Help us in this, and you are free to rejoin your people.”
The stranger thought for a moment.
“Yes,” he said. “I can lead them from here. I will tell them of Quivira. A land of rivers and gold. A king who sits atop a turquoise thrown. Who dines beneath a tree hung with golden bells.”
“And they will go?” the old man pondered.
“They will go.” The stranger insisted. They do not care about this place. Only gold.”
A younger man spat.
“And when they find nothing? They will return. Even more bloodthirsty.
Bigote’s eyes didn’t move.
“They will not return. They will die. Lost.”
“How can you be sure?” they young man countered.
All eyes fell on the stranger.
“That is not my doing,” he said. “The land will decide.”
The kiva went quiet. The fire snapped. Outside, one of the Spanish dogs barked. Inside, Bigote reached down and touched the head of one of his own hounds—scratching it gently behind its ear.
“Then go,” Bigote said. “Tell them the lie they deserve.”
Outside, the fires still glowed on the horizon. The intruders sang songs from Castile, from a world that had no place here.
And so the plot was born.
In that dark room, with dust on the floor and fear on every breath, the elders of Cicúique planted a false star in the eastern sky.
A star called Quivira.
CHAPTER 3: Into Texas
Despite the profound disillusionment at Cíbola and the brutal realities of the Tiguex War, the Spanish thirst for gold remained unquenched. But something glittered in the darkness—a lie bright enough to light the way to hell.
Moving east to the Ciqueque Pueblo, near modern Santa Fe, the Spanish were introduced to a captive Plains Indian they called El Turco—“The Turk.” The name wasn’t born of accuracy, but of assumption. He wore a wrapped headcloth that reminded the Spaniards of an Ottoman turban, and his features didn’t match the Pueblo faces they’d come to know.
El Turco, a Pawnee from Nebraska, along with another Plains Indian, Isopete, a Wichita from Kansas, were held captive by the the Pecos Indians there.
The Pecos, having seen how their neighbors who tried to resist the Spanish fared, took a different path, offering gifts and diplomacy instead of arrows. The Spanish soon took up residence, and the captive El Turco slowly began to spin elaborate tales whenever he had the opportunity. Tales of a distant land to the east called Quivira, which he claimed was teeming with immense wealth—gold, silver, and rich textiles. His descriptions were vivid and enticing: a wide river with fish as large as horses, grand canoes, and a lord who rested beneath a tree from which golden bells played in the breeze. He even claimed that the common table service in Quivira was wrought silver, with pitchers, plates, and bowls of solid gold. As the days went on, El Turco added more cities to his tale. Of his own land of Harahay, even richer than Quivira, and beyond that, another land called Guaes…equally wealthy.
Coronado, desperate to find the riches that would justify his costly and difficult expedition, was captivated by El Turco's stories. He later remarked that "it would have to have been the richest thing in the Indies". Coronado decided to break camp in the spring and send an expedition to the unknown expanse to the east – into Texas. His advisors pleaded with him to send a smaller scout force, but El Turco had spun his yarns too well – stories of kings and emperors and great armies. Coronado knew they would need every man they had to conquer such formidable foes. So, in April 1541, a year and two months from when the expedition left Mexico, Coronado and his entire army departed from their winter quarters in the Rio Grande valley, heading east from Cicúique towards the rich cities that El Turco described. But what they didn’t know was that the Pecos chiefs had secretly met with El Turco and plotted with him to rid themselves of this Spanish menace once and for all. El Turco would lead the Spanish out into the middle of nowhere, far from food, water, and shelter. The Plains, he knew, could kill even the strongest man if he had no bearings. The Spaniards would vanish into the grass and sun, never to return. The trap had been set.
When Coronado’s army left New Mexico in April of 1541, they were chasing smoke and echoes. El Turco’s (el TUR-koh) tales of Quivira (kee-VEER-uh) had sunk deep into the imaginations of the soldiers, who—after months of hunger, false promises, and war—needed to believe there was still something to hope for. Gold, they thought, was just over the horizon. But instead lay the Llano Estacado (YAH-noh eh-stah-CAH-doh)—the Staked Plains of West Texas—one of the most featureless and unforgiving stretches of land on the continent. But El Turco had one unforeseen problem, they had agreed to take him as their guide, per the secret plan, but they also insisted on taking the other captive, Isopete. El Turco and Isopete probably looked the same to the Spanish eye, but they were not. They were both Plains Indians, sure, and as foreign to the Pueblos of New Mexico as the Spanish were, but their two tribes – the Pawnee and the Wichita - were enemies, with centuries of hatred and bloodshed tainting their past. And Isopete wasn’t in on El Turco’s plot.
The army rode out from Cicúique (see-KWEE-keh) with thousands of animals, hundreds of soldiers, native allies, and support personnel—all being led by two guides with very different stories. El Turco, smooth-talking and confident, held Coronado’s ear. He spun his tales nightly: golden idols, noble lords, cities richer than Mexico, silver bowls so common they were used to feed dogs. But Isopete (ee-soh-PEH-tay), had a much different version of events. He warned the Spanish not to believe El Turco. There was no gold. Quivira was real, yes—but it wasn't due east, it was far to the northeast. And even if they were heading in the right direction, there were no riches to be found there. It was just a modest cluster of grass huts on the edge of the plains. The people there lived simply, farming and hunting bison. No treasure. No kings. Just another simple village among many.
But Coronado had already made up his mind. Isopete’s words were ignored, and El Turco remained the favored guide.
The army marched for days, across the grassy plains of Eastern New Mexico, until a feature stood before them, jutting out from the ground as if pulled from the earth by God’s hand. The Llano Estacado.
Often mistranslated as “Staked” plains, it more likely held its more traditional translation “stockaded” or “palisaded” a great stockaded wall like a fortress, and what treasures would they find protected by these walls?
The party scaled the caprock along an easy entrypoint, known to their native guides, near modern day Glenrio New Mexico. (Coincidentally, the same spot that engineers chose for both Route 66 and later Interstate 40).
Coronado now, for the first time, beheld the bison herds. “I found so many cattle,” he wrote, “that it would seem impossible to estimate their number for there was not a single day until my return that I lost sight of them.” Their horses were in shock from these lumbering beasts, and fled at the sight of them. One member of the expedition, who had read Marco Polo’s account of his journey, called attention to the fact that Marco Polo had encountered crook-backed cattle with long wool (these were yaks). Some members of the expedition became convinced that they were in the Gobi desert of Asia.
They soon came across an Indian trail and followed it to encounter a tipi camp of the Querecho, as mentioned on episode 1, these were a proto-Apache people. Coronado described them as gentle and kind. They relayed tell of “rich settlements” further to the southeast. But Coronado’s and the Querecho’s definition of “rich” could not have been further apart. Inspired by these stories, Coronado turned the expedition southward where, to quote Wellard’s book Glory, God, and Gold, it “was swallowed in the vast expanse of grass and sky.”
Here, even the guides lost their bearings. The land stretched on like a sea—flat, treeless, and without landmark. Their horses stumbled from lack of water. Their supplies ran thin. One chronicler wrote that “not even the stars gave us comfort, for there was no way to know if we were making progress or circling back on our own trail.” Morale cratered. Men began to suspect the truth.
Several hunting parties set out, and many never returned. But El Turco was finding a problem in his scheme. The rains came. This was turning out to be an unseasonably rainy spring. And the parched landscape he expected to find, instead began to turn to fields of green grasses and full playa lakes for drinking. With the ever-present bison herds, instead of starving, Coronado’s expedition, it seemed, might survive here indefinitely.
As the expedition continued to wander across the Llano, they eventually came across a “barranca” - canyon, and within it another band of Indians called they called the Teyas. This was another mistranslation. The tribe was actually called the Hasinai, and their greeting “teyas” meant “friends”. This eventually morphed into “Texas” and gave the state its name and motto.
Modern scholars fiercely debate the location of this first barranca. Some, place it at Tule Canyon near present day Silverton. Others place it at Yellowhouse Canyon in Lubbock.
Encountering another nomadic, tipi-dwelling Plains tribe, and nothing resembling anything close to a city of gold, started to cause consternation among some of Coronado’s lieutenants as Isopete continued to tell them, again and again, that El Turco was lying to them. But Coronado could not be convinced. He still wanted to believe El Turco. He needed to believe El Turco, despite all evidence to the contrary.
If you’ve ever been through a summer thunderstorm on the Llano, you know that intense is an understatement, even inside a modern-built home. So imagine for a moment what that must have been like one warm night for Coronado and his 2,000 men camped along a creek, surrounded by canyon walls, sleeping in wool or linen tents, when a classic Panhandle supercell descended on them. Driving rain, flash flooding, gale-force winds, and hailstones as large as bowls came down on them like the fist of God Himself. The temblor ripped their tents to shreds, sent the men scurrying for their iron helmets or any natural cover they could find. Many of their animals were injured. Many more scattered. If you've ever had to deal with the blight of West Texas hogs, you can probably thank Coronado and the storm that night.
The next morning, as they attempted to round up their frightened livestock and repair their dwellings, Coronado decided that he needed to find a better place to rest their weary army. The Teyas told them of another, larger barranca a couple of days away. It had water, as well as better grazing for their animals, box canyons to contain their livestock, trees for firewood, and wild fruits and berries growing along the riverbanks. It would be a much, much better spot! In reality, they probably just wanted these foreign squatters out of their digs.
A couple of days later, the column arrived at the site, which scholars generally agree was Blanco Canyon near Crosbyton.
During the three weeks they camped at Blanco, the Spanish questioned some of the other Teyas living nearby who told them, accurately, who and what lived to the east. No gold, no riches, only more Plains Indians in simple villages. But Coronado could not be convinced, and ordered the expedition to continue driving east.
In the shadows of the cookfires, mutiny was a whisper. Not loud. Not yet. But some men polished their swords with Coronado’s name on their tongues.
At the edge of the caprock, as Coronado gave the order to descend the escarpment, Isopete threw himself on the ground in desperation saying he would rather they behead him than take him any further in that direction. It was not the way to Quivira!
Standing on the precipice of the eastern escarpment and gazing down at the miles and miles of nothingness laid out before them, it must have been apparent to all but the most self-deceiving Spaniards that there were no cities of gold just over the horizon. And with an increasingly hostile army following behind his wild goose chase, El Turco finally broke. He confessed that he had led them astray, that Quivira did exist, but it really to the north. He was seized and put in irons while Coronado decided what to do with him.
Finding their prospects for gold and glory fading, but still holding onto foolish hope, Coronado elected to send the bulk of his force back to New Mexico. He would lead a smaller expedition to scout for these settlements to the north. With about 40 men, now guided by Isopete, (with El Turco now trailing behind them in shackles), the Conquistador and his band marched north for many days. Behind him, the truth stood silent and waving. But Coronado didn’t look back. Conquistadors don’t retreat. They ride forward—even into ruin.
Along this new path, they discovered and camped at Palo Duro Canyon, crossing the Texas and Oklahoma panhandles and into Kansas. On June 29, 1541 they reached the Arkansas river and, following it, encountered a Wichita hunting party who told them their village, Quivira, was only 3 days downstream. Coronado, with renewed hope, continued on, dispatching Isopete to ride ahead with a letter announcing their impending arrival to the Quiviran governor (a letter he had no chance of reading or understanding). Finally, they arrived at the village, near what is now Lyons, Kansas.
It was exactly what Isopete had said it would be.
Grass huts. No gold. No silver. Just a hardworking farming village on the edge of the Arkansas River. The Quivirans greeted Coronado peacefully, even generously. Their leader, a tall man the Spaniards called “Tatarrax,” offered food, water, and directions. No cities. No palaces. Just a people living close to the land. The Spaniards were stunned. The dream was dead.
To quote Paul Wellman again:
“and with the sight, utter, bitter disappointment. The sick extinction of the last feeble flicker of hope in Coronado’s breast. These were savages, living in straw houses,” he writes. “Tattooed and barbarous. They were, if anything, less civilized and incidentally possessed less of value than the Pueblo Indians. Failure, irrevocable failure for the expedition into which so much treasure, blood and labor had been poured, was finally pronounced as by a voice of doom.”
Coronado, dejected as he was, remained in the area for almost a month. Scouting the area and other villages nearby. El Turco took this time to make his final, desperate gambit. He pleaded with the Wichitas to attack the Spaniards, urging them to at least kill their horses, without which they would have no chance on the Plains. Isopete, of course, found out and reported the latest treachery to Coronado. His deception was now fully unraveled. Under torture, El Turco confessed to the whole plot, blaming the Pecos tribe at Ciquque for hatching the scheme. But he still had one more lie in him, and swore to them that there really was a golden empire to the north, they just needed to continue a little further. In reality, El Turco, certainly understanding his fate, hoped if he could lure them into his homeland…that of the Pawnee, his own people could defeat the, now small and exhausted, party and he would finally have his freedom.
But it was not to be.
Coronado, furious, had El Turco strangled. Some accounts say he was executed in front of the whole camp. Others say it was done quietly, without ceremony. Either way, the man whose lies had sustained the last hope of the expedition died on the same open prairie he had tried to weaponize, and with him that once bright eastern star he had put in the sky above them, twinkled and went out.
CHAPTER 4: THE RETURN
On a cool, fall morning in 1541, Coronado rewarded Isopete with his freedom, allowing him to stay with his Wichita brethren, and the Spanish army began its long trek back to New Mexico.
I’ll pause here for a little historical twist of fate. Simultaneously with Coronado’s expedition, Hernando de Soto had been on his own expedition for mythic gold, first exploring Florida and then to the northwest. De Soto discovered the Mississippi river about the time Coronado had broken camp in New Mexico to find Quivira. By the time Coronado left Quivara, along the banks of the Arkansas, De Soto’s expedition was camped along the very same river, less than 100 miles downstream. Neither of the two expeditions had any way of knowing this of course, but it’s interesting to think of how the settlement of the Great Plains might have gone differently had these two expeditions linked up with one another and established a permanent base of operation in the middle of the country. As it was though, they went their separate ways. Neither knowing how close they had come to meeting.
Westward they marched, with Coronado’s army retracing its path across Kansas and Oklahoma, through the bones of their own mistakes. Once in Texas they would take a more direct route back, becoming the first Europeans to use the “easy crossing” at the Canadian River that would centuries later become the Old West boomtown of Tascosa and then, back into familiar territory. New Mexico.
And Coronado hadn’t forgotten the source of the lie. When the army returned to Cicúique, they came with names and memories, and Bigote’s was first among them. He didn’t resist. He stood bravely where they told him, hands bound behind his back, and waited while the soldiers brought out the dogs. Not like his pet hounds. These were large Spanish mastiffs—trained for war, thick, muscular, and merciless—were loosed on him in the center of the plaza. The villagers were made to watch. What the teeth didn’t take, the swords finished.
The punishment didn’t stop there. Coronado declared the entire pueblo complicit. The Pecos were stripped of their food stores and winter clothing. Their ceremonial rooms were ransacked, their sacred items torn apart and burned. Fields were trampled under hooves and left fallow. The elders were hanged without trial. A few young men—those who dared speak or weep too loudly—were tied to stakes and executed by firing squad, more for spectacle than justice.
By the time the army moved on, Cicúique was broken. What they hadn’t killed, they’d humiliated. The village survived, but not as it was. It became a place people spoke of in lowered voices—a warning.
From there, they limped back to Tiguex—what was left of it. The pueblos had emptied after the war, the fields gone to seed. They set up camp in the ruins, a hollow echo of their arrival a year before. It was there, in that dead place, that calamity struck again as Coronado would be thrown and trampled during a horse race, a tumble that almost killed him. Though he survived, he was never physically, or mentally, the same. Almost three years after he embarked with eyes of golden empires, they had found no gold, the land he concquered was a smouldering ruin, and the souls he was meant to save were hiding in fear. Im December 1542, he finally ordered the army to return to Compestela in disgrace. He left behind just three friars to bring the Catholic faith to the various tribes they had encountered. None of the three would ever be heard from again. All promptly murdered by their new acolytes.
Coronado returned broken. Body shattered, fortune gone, name in ashes. But the land remembered him. The dry winds of the Llano whispered stories of a Spaniard who chased gold into the grass, and found only silence. And in that silence, the land waited. For new names. New dreams. New lies.
Back in New Spain, Coronado was penniless, having squandered his family fortune on the ill-fated expedition. To add insult to injury, he was put on trial for war crimes against the native people he encountered. Friends in high places at court would assure his acquittal, but his dreams of fame and fortune were finally dashed for good. He died a bitter man in Mexico City, 1554, never knowing that he had found treasure after all. Because his detailed maps, journals, and topography transversing parts of five different modern states, would provide a wealth of information for every daring explorer who would come after. But it would be a generation before they came again.
The Spanish Crown, embarrassed and furious at the lack of results, stopped authorizing large land expeditions into the north. For decades, the region we now know as the American Southwest faded from imperial interest. Quivira and Cíbola joined El Dorado in the graveyard of Spanish dreams.
But the legacy remained. The road Coronado cut through the dust and blood of the Southwest eventually became a corridor—first for friars, then soldiers, then settlers. Dragging their crosses, their flags, and their ambitions behind them. The violence he unleashed shattered old orders, scattered pueblos, and sent ripples across centuries. And the myth he chased—the golden cities glinting just beyond the horizon—never truly died. It just kept changing names.
But those plains he thought he could claim with a banner and a prayer remained untouched.
He never ruled them. No Spaniard ever did.
And though Coronado didn't find the 7 cities of gold for his crown, he left behind a treasure all the same.
They slipped their bridles,
fled the terror of war
and ran into the open land like sparks on dry grass.
Horses.
To the people still watching from the edges of empire, they were not animals.
They were power made flesh.
Freedom with a heartbeat.
A throne with no palace.
And a gift the Spaniards never meant to give.
And those who learned to ride them—
to vanish into the wind,
to kill without warning,
to rule without walls—
they would build an empire with no king but the horizon.
The Comanche were coming.
OUTRO
Thanks for listening to the WTX Podcast: I’ve been Jody Slaughter. As we just hinted at, next up we’ll be doing a deep dive into the Lords of the South Plains, the Comanche. If you’ve read S.C. Gwynne’s phenomenal book Empire of the Summer Moon, I’m going to try to take a little different path so hopefully you’ll learn something you didn’t know. If you haven’t read Empire of the Summer Moon…what are you doing listening to me? Go pick it up now.
If you enjoyed this episode, you’ll definitely want to check out Paul Wellman’s Glory, God, and Gold for much more info on Coronado and many other early Spanish Conquistadors. As always you can email me at lubbockist@gmail.com with any questions or comments, or reach out on Twitter @Lubbockist. Visit wtxpodcast.com for photos, maps, and tons of additional info related to each episode. I have to apologize here for anyone who was looking for the show notes from episode 1 of this season because I forgot to ever upload that. By the time you hear this, those will be up for episodes 1 and 2.
This episode was written, produced, edited, and, mixed by me, Jody Slaughter. Original music is performed by my AI band Gentry Ford and the Homeless Lobos, you can find more from them on Spotify or wherever you stream music. When researching this episode, I came across a really cool recording of an actual Pueblo Mudhead Ka-chee-nah ritual. I couldn’t quite find a spot in the episode to work it in, so I’m going to put it at the end of the episode in lieu of our normal outro, apologies to Gentry Ford for bumping him this week. Thanks again for listening but for now, so long…from West Texas.