This week on One Shot at History, we're trading Wisconsin weather for Arkansas weirdness — and there is a lot of it.

We start in Little Rock in 1920, where two police officers on a routine patrol stumble into a ditch, see lights floating into the treetops, and nearly get shot by three women who were ghost hunting on a new moon. It gets stranger from there.

We visit the White River, home to Arkansas's own version of the Loch Ness Monster — a creature so embedded in local culture that the state legislature officially designated a stretch of river as the White River Monster Refuge in 1973. We head to Fouke, where a hairy, red-eyed creature attacked a family in 1971 and inspired a film that helped invent the found-footage horror genre. We drive the railroad tracks outside Gurdon, where a mysterious light has been bobbing in the darkness since the 1930s and no one — not scientists, not Unsolved Mysteries — has fully explained it.

And we spend some real time with the Cherokee legend of the Yunwi Tsunsdi — the Little People — small, powerful spirit beings who guided lost travelers, kept sacred fire burning on the Trail of Tears, and, according to tradition, are still out there. This one isn't a ghost story. It's something older and more alive than that.

One Shot at History takes a humorous look at the serious business of folklore — how stories travel, why they survive, and what they say about the people who keep telling them.

From Wisconsin, headed south of the Mason- Dixon Line

OLD COLD CASE

Horicon City Marshal William Gibson — Civil War veteran, father of four, a man his community trusted with their safety — was shot once, point-blank, on the steps of his own jailhouse, in front of his ten-year-old son.

The killer vanished into the dark Wisconsin night. Suspects were arrested across the state. Leads were chased down, and evidence was recovered. A reward climbed to two thousand dollars — the equivalent of sixty-five thousand dollars today.

There were arrests that went nowhere. A killer who slipped through the net and disappeared without a name. And then — seventeen years after the murder — a dying man in a Minneapolis hospital confessed to killing eleven men. He named one of them - Marshal William Gibson of Horicon.

This is a cold case more than a hundred and forty-four years old. And today, we’re going back in to pay tribute and honor the name of a fallen officer. We'll follow his timeline, from his arrival at the American House Hotel, to his day of heavy drinking, and his subsequent arrest by Marshal Gibson for public drunkenness.

We'll hear from the witnesses who gave depositions at the official inquiry. The Detectives who were brought in for the manhunt. The town on edge.

We'll learn about who William, or 'Bill', Gibson was as a man, an Irish immigrant with a dream and a duty.

We'll remember Marshal Gibson and his sacrifice. His Memorials here in Wisconsin and in Washington D.C.

This is the Old Cold Case, The Murder of Marshal William Gibson.

On a bitter November day in 1914, the C.F. Curtis, the Selden E. Marvin, and the Annie M. Peterson headed out onto Lake Superior carrying lumber, freight, and a crew of working people bound for another routine run — and vanished into one of the lake’s worst storms.

More than a century later, the wrecks were finally found again, turning a long-lost maritime disaster into a gripping story of ambition, endurance, tragedy, and the secrets Lake Superior kept hidden for generations. More than a century later, underwater archaeology and shipwreck research would finally locate the Curtis and the Marvin, revealing new details about one of the lake’s enduring mysteries and the human cost of the lumber trade.