The Allen Site: A Paleoindian Camp in Southwestern Nebraska

THE ALLEN SITE A Paleoindian Camp in Southwestern Nebraska Edited by

DOUGLAS B. BAMFORTH

The Allen Site

THE ALLEN SITE A Paleoindian Camp in Southwestern Nebraska Edited by DOUGLAS B. BAMFORTH

University of New Mexico Press / Albuquerque

In Memory of Edward Mott Davis (1918–1998)

© 2007 by the University of New Mexico Press All rights reserved. Published 2007 Printed in the United States of America 12 11 10 09 08 07

1 2 3 4 5 6

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data The Allen Site : a Paleoindian camp in southwestern Nebraska / edited by Douglas B. Bamforth.

p. cm.

Includes bibliographical references and index. isbn 978-0-8263-4295-9 (cloth : alk. paper) 1. Paleo-Indians—Nebraska—Medicine Creek Valley. 2. Paleoethnobotany—Nebraska—Medicine Creek Valley. 3. Paleoecology—Nebraska—Medicine Creek Valley. 4. Excavations (Archaeology)—Nebraska—Medicine Creek Valley. 5. Medicine Creek Valley (Neb.)—Antiquities. I. Bamforth, Douglas B. E78.N3A55 2007 978.2’835—dc22 2007023286

design and composition: Mina Yamashita

Contents



List of Figures / vii



List of Tables / xii



Acknowledgments / xv

chapter 1: Introduction (Douglas B. Bamforth) / 1 Chapter 2: Previous Paleoindian Research at Medicine Creek (E. Mott Davis) / 9 Chapter 3: Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology at Selected Paleoindian Sites around Medicine Creek Reservoir (David May) / 17 Chapter 4: Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site (Robert E. Warren) / 47 Chapter 5: Growth Increment Analysis of Freshwater Mussel Shell from the Allen Site (James C. Chatters) / 69 Chapter 6: Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene in Southwestern Nebraska: The Pollen and Phytolith Evidence (Linda Scott Cummings, Thomas E. Moutoux, and Reid A. Bryson) / 77 Chapter 7: Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains Based on Paleobotanical and Paleoethnobotanical Remains from the Medicine Creek Area (L. Anthony Zalucha) / 98 Chapter 8: Archaeology of the Allen Site: Introduction, Fieldwork, and Provenience Data (Douglas B. Bamforth) / 109 Chapter 9: Spatial Structure and Refitting of the Allen Site Lithic Assemblage (Douglas B. Bamforth and Mark Becker) / 123 Chapter 10: The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage (Douglas B. Bamforth and Mark Becker) / 148

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Contents

Chapter 11: Other Archaeological Evidence (Douglas B. Bamforth) / 184 Chapter 12: Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns at the Allen Site (Jean Hudson) / 194 Chapter 13: Synthesis: Paleoindian Occupation of the Allen Site (Douglas B. Bamforth) / 227 Chapter 14: Beyond Medicine Creek: The Allen Site and Plains Paleoindian-Period Ways of Life (Douglas B. Bamforth) / 245

References Cited / 259



Contributors / 279



Index / 281

vii

List of Figures

1.1: Locations of the Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites. / 7 3.1: Map of sites around Medicine Creek reservoir referred to in the text. / 17 3.2: Map of spatial extent of Terrace 2 (shaded areas) in Medicine Creek Valley in the vicinity of Medicine Creek reservoir. / 18 3.3: Three stratigraphic sections at the Allen site (25FT50) with the provenience and conventional radiocarbon ages of three charcoal samples shown. / 25 3.4: Lime Creek site (25FT41) stratigraphic section. / 26 3.5: Results of laboratory analyses of samples from the lower 3.7 m of Lime Creek Core 3. / 29 3.6: Complete Lime Creek site (25FT41) stratigraphic section drawn to scale. / 31 3.7: Red Smoke site (25FT42) stratigraphic section. / 32 3.8: Medicine Creek cutbank as viewed toward the southeast from the creek. / 37 3.9: Lower 2 m of alluvium exposed at the base of the Medicine Creek cutbank. / 40 3.10: Stafford site cutbank along Lime Creek above Medicine Creek reservoir. / 41 3.11: Stafford site cutbank between depths of approximately 220 and 640 cm. / 43 4.1: Map of the Medicine Creek Dam locality in southwest Nebraska. / 48 4.2: Freshwater mussels from the Allen site (medial views). / 50 4.3: Shell scraping tool from the Intermediate Zone at the Allen site. / 54 4.4: Zoogeographic distributions of six mussel species represented at the Allen site. / 58 4.5: Long-term decline of the pondhorn mussel (Uniomerus tetralasmus) and rise of the mapleleaf mussel (Quadrula quadrula) in archaeological assemblages from the Medicine Creek Dam locality. / 61 4.6: Habitat scores of freshwater mussel assemblages from three archaeological sites in the Central Plains. / 62 4.7: Model of Late Pleistocene and Holocene landscape history of the Medicine Creek Valley. / 64 5.1: Posterior end of the resilial tuberosity of specimen 1215-47, Quadrula quadrula. / 70 5.2: Annual growth pattern of freshwater mussels. / 71 5.3: Growth indices from the Allen site mussels compared with control samples of Margaritifera falcata and Anodonta berigiana. / 74

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List of Figures

5.4: Graph of growth indices from the Allen site compared with the combined indices from Margaritifera falcata. / 74 5.5: Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Ligumia recta and Quadrula quadrula. / 74 5.6: Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Lampsilis siliquoidea and Ligumia recta from the Allen site. / 74 5.7: Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Uniomerus tetralasmus. / 75 6.1: Pollen from the Medicine Creek cutbank and Lime Creek sites. / 83 6.2: Phytoliths from the Medicine Creek cutbank and Lime Creek sites. / 84 6.3: Pollen from the Red Smoke and Stafford sites. / 87 6.4: Phytoliths from the Red Smoke and Stafford sites. / 89 6.5: Modeled temperature history for McCook, Nebraska, 14,000 RCYBP to present. / 91 6.6: Modeled precipitation history for Cambridge, Nebraska, 14,000 RCYBP to present. / 92 6.7: Modeled discharge for Medicine Creek, 16,000 cal B.P. to present. / 93 6.8: Modeled monthly (March through July) stream discharge for Medicine Creek, 16,000 cal. B.P to present. / 94 8.1: Excavated area at the Allen site, showing the extent of excavation in 1947, 1948, and 1949. / 109 8.2: Excavations at the Allen site in 1948, view to the south. / 110 8.3: Excavations at the Allen site in 1948, view to the north. / 111 8.4: Stratigraphic profile of the southern portion of the west wall of the 1948 Exploratory Trench at the Allen site. / 118 8.5: Stratigraphic profile of the northern portion of the west wall of the 1948 Exploratory Trench at the Allen site. / 119 8.6: North-to-south profile along the East 35 gridline at the Allen site. / 120 8.7: Reconstructed topography of the surfaces of Occupation Level 1 and Occupation Level 2. / 121 9.1: Vertical distribution of hearths relative to the surface of Occupation Level (OL) 1 and OL 2. / 126 9.2: Flaked-stone artifacts per cubic foot of excavated deposits by stratigraphic unit (data from Table 9.1). / 127 9.3: Mean flaked-stone artifacts per provenience unit from which artifacts were recovered by stratigraphic unit (data from Table 9.1). / 127 9.4: Vertical refits among artifacts in the Intermediate Zone. / 129 9.5: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for below Occupation Level 1 / 130

List of Figures /

9.6: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Lower. / 130 9.7: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. / 130 9.8: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Upper. / 130 9.9: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for the Intermediate Zone. / 131 9.10: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Lower. / 131 9.11: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Surface. / 131 9.12: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Upper. / 131 9.13: Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for above Occupation Level 2. / 132 9.14: Density of point-plotted bone by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. / 133 9.15: Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Lower. / 134 9.16: Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. / 134 9.17: Median flake size by excavation grid square for the Intermediate Zone. / 135 9.18: Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Lower. / 135 9.19: Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Surface. / 135 9.20: Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Upper. / 135 9.21: Horizontal linkages among refitted artifacts in Occupation Level 1 Surface. / 136 9.22: Hypothetical subdivision of Occupation Level 1 Surface based on linkages in Figure 9.21. / 137 9.23: Horizontal linkages among refitted stone artifacts in the Intermediate Zone. / 137 10.1: Stage 2 biface fragment refitted to Stage 3 biface fragment. / 150 10.2: Stage 3 bifaces. / 150 10.3: Stage 4 bifaces. / 150 10.4: Finished projectile points. / 151 10.5: Projectile point preforms. / 152 10.6: Perforators. / 152 10.7: Well-made beveled tools. / 153 10.8: Beveled tools made on scavenged biface fragments. / 153 10.9: Beveled tools made on minimally modified flake blanks. / 153

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List of Figures

10.10: Edge-modified flakes. / 154 10.11: Large polyhedral block cores. / 155 10.12: Small multidirectional cores. / 155 10.13: Bifacial cores. / 155 10.14: Scaled pieces (“pieces esquillees”). / 156 10.15: Broken and refitted biface. / 166 10.16: Refitted sequences of flakes struck from block cores. / 170 10.17: Raw and smoothed values for median flake length by stratum. / 180 10.18: Raw and smoothed values for median flake width by stratum. / 180 10.19: Raw and smoothed values for median platform thickness by stratum. / 180 10.20: Raw and smoothed values for median platform angle by stratum. / 181 10.21: Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes with cortical platforms by stratum. / 181 10.22: Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes with dorsal cortex by stratum. / 181 1 0.23: Raw and smoothed values for flake density (number of dorsal flake scars/flake width) by stratum. / 181 1 0.24: Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes showing heat modification by stratum. / 181 10.25: Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes showing heat damage by stratum. / 181 11.1: Hammerstones from the Allen site. / 184 11.2: Grinding stones from the Allen site. / 186 11.3: Grooved (bola?) stone. / 187 11.4: Needles from the Allen site. / 189 11.5: Large awls from the Allen site. / 190 11.6: Smaller awls made on bone splinters. / 190 11.7: Awl made from the metapodial of a wolf or other canid. / 190 11.8: Bipointed mammal bone splinter. / 190 11.9: Deer antler burnishing (?) tool. / 191 12.1: Site totals for key taxa. / 197 12.2: Relative importance of large and small mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and fish, as measured by number of identified specimens. / 198 12.3: Changes over time in the relative contribution of six major taxa as measured by number of identified specimens. / 202 12.4: Changes over time in the estimated dietary contribution of six major taxa. / 203 12.5: Age profile for bison from Occupation Level 1. / 205

List of Figures /

12.6: Presence/absence for particular bison elements per occupation period. / 207 12.7: Intersite comparison of bison minimal animal unit values. / 212 12.8: Comparison of minimal animal unit (MAU) methods. / 213 12.9: Presence/absence for particular deer elements per occupation period. / 216 12.10: Presence/absence for particular pronghorn elements per occupation period. / 216

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xii

List of Tables

Table 3.1: Elias’s (1949) Description of Terrace-2 Alluvium near the Allen Site Including Particle Size Data for Samples of the Alluvium / 22 Table 3.2: Particle Size and Selected Chemical Data for Sediment Samples from Near a Hearth (Feature 27) in the Upper Part of the Intermediate Zone at the Allen Site / 23 Table 3.3: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Allen Site / 24 Table 3.4: Description of Sediments in the Lower 3.7 m of Core 3 (Depth Interval 14.3–18.0 m) Retrieved at the Lime Creek Site / 27 Table 3.5: Physical and Chemical Characteristics of Sediments in the Lower 3.7 m of Core 3 (Depth Interval 14.3–18.0 m) Retrieved at the Lime Creek Site / 28 Table 3.6: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Lime Creek Site / 30 Table 3.7: Description of Sediments Exposed along Approximately the 90E Line at the Red Smoke Site / 33 Table 3.8: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Red Smoke Site / 35 Table 3.9: Description of Sediments Exposed in the Medicine Creek Cutbank / 38 Table 3.10: Radiocarbon Ages Determined for Samples from the Medicine Creek Cutbank / 39 Table 3.11: Description of Sediments Exposed in a Cutbank at the Stafford Site / 42 Table 3.12: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Stafford Site / 43 Table 4.1: Species Composition of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site / 49 Table 4.2: Stratigraphic Distribution of Mussel Shell from the Allen Site / 53 Table 4.3: Stratigraphic Distribution of Freshwater Mussel Taxa at the Allen Site / 53 Table 4.4: Measurements of Freshwater Mussel Shells from the Allen Site / 56 Table 4.5: Estimated Food Value of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site / 57 Table 4.6: Species Composition of Freshwater Mussel Assemblages from Archaeological Sites in the Lower Medicine Creek Basin / 59 Table 4.7: Geomorphic Model of Hydrological Changes in the Medicine Creek Floodplain / 65 Table 4.8: Zooarchaeological Models of Hydrological Changes in the Medicine Creek Floodplain / 65

List of Tables /

Table 5.1: Summary of Growth Increment–Based Data on Mussel Shell from the Allen Site / 73 Table 6.1: Provenience of Pollen Samples from Lime Creek and Harry Strunk Reservoir / 81 Table 6.2: Provenience Data for Samples from the Stafford and Red Smoke Sites / 81 Table 6.3: Pollen Types Observed in Samples from Lime Creek and Harry Strunk Lake Cutbank / 82 Table 6.4: Pollen Types Observed in Samples from the Stafford and Red Smoke Sites / 82 Table 7.1: Charcoal Identifications by Stratigraphic Level at the Allen Site / 105 Table 8.1: Definitions of Analytic Stratigraphic Units at the Allen Site / 121 Table 9.1: Volume of Excavated Sediments and Number of Artifacts per Stratigraphic Level at the Allen Site / 126 Table 9.2: Refits among Stratigraphic Levels for Artifacts with Specific Vertical Provenience / 128 Table 9.3: Refits among Stratigraphic Levels for Artifacts with General Vertical Provenience / 128 Table 9.4: Summary Statistics for Flake Sizes within Artifact Clusters at the Allen Site / 134 Table 10.1: Frequencies of Worked Stone by Type and Stratigraphic Level / 149 Table 10.2: Antisera Used in Crossover Immunoelectrophoresis Analysis / 160 Table 10.3: Frequency of Haft Traces on Varieties of Beveled Tools / 163 Table 10.4: Description of Backed Pieces / 163 able 10.5: Mean Dimensions for Stage 2, 3, and 4 Bifaces from the Allen Site (Complete T Measurements Only) / 164 Table 10.6: Nonmetric Characteristics of Allen Site Bifaces by Production Stage / 165 Table 10.7: Cores from the Allen Site / 167 Table 10.8: Frequency of Heat Discoloration by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded) / 168 Table 10.9: Frequency of Heat Damage by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded) / 168 Table 10.10: Frequency of Heat Discoloration and Heat Damage for Worked Stone and Debitage / 168 Table 10.11: Frequency of Blank Type by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded) / 169 Table 10.12: Results of Microwear Analysis by General Stratigraphic Level / 171 Table 10.13: Results of Crossover Immunoelectrophoresis Analysis / 174 able 10.14: Comparison of Allen Site Debitage with Quarry (Early-Stage Core Reduction) and T Campsite (Late-Stage Biface Reduction) Debitage / 175 able 10.15: Flaked-Stone Artifacts Made from Material other than Smoky Hill Jasper in the T Allen Site Collection / 177 able 10.16: Frequencies of Flaked-Stone Artifacts by Major Archaeological Level at the Allen Site T (Artifacts with Unknown Provenience Excluded) / 179 able 10.17: Measures of General Composition of the Lithic Assemblage in the Major Archaeological T Levels at the Allen Site, Based on Counts in Table 10.16 / 179

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List of Tables

Table 10.18: Raw and Smoothed Values for Flake Measurements by Stratum / 182 Table 11.1: Hammerstones from the Allen Site / 185 Table 11.2: Groundstone from the Allen Site / 185 Table 11.3: Frequency of Bone Tools and Unmodified Bone for the Three Major Strata at the Allen Site / 188 Table 11.4: Summary Data on Hearths from the Allen Site / 192 Table 12.1: Vertebrate Fauna from the Allen Site, Number of Identified Specimens per Taxon and Stratigraphic Context / 195 Table 12.2: Butchered Bone / 199 Table 12.3: Burned Bone / 201 Table 12.4: Number of Identified Specimens (NISP), Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI), and Estimated Meat Weight Values for Six Major Taxa over the Three Occupation Periods / 204 Table 12.5: Bison Body Part Distribution per Occupation Period, Measured as Number of Identified Specimens per Element / 206 Table 12.6: Bison Body Part Distribution for Occupation Level 1: Relative Frequency, Taphonomic Susceptibility, and Nutritional Value / 208 Table 12.7: Gnaw Marks on Bison Bone, Number of Identified Specimens (NISP) and Percentage of NISP / 210 Table 12.8: Bison End:Shaft Ratio for Humerus and Tibia Based on Number of Identified Specimens / 210 Table 12.9: Percentage of Bison Bone Weathering / 211 Table 12.10: Fauna Associated with Aquatic Habitats / 218 Table 12.11: Features with Animal Bone, Grouped by Feature Type (Hearth or Scatter) and Stratum or Temporal Zone / 220 Table 13.1: Frequencies of Artifacts (other than Flaked-Stone Tools and Debris), Bone, and Hearths by Archaeological Level at the Allen Site / 231 Table 13.2: Measures of Assemblage and Feature Change, Based on Counts in Tables 10.16 and 13.1 / 231 Table 13.3: Deposition Rates (Minimum Number of Individuals per Century) for Five Species of Mammals Eaten at the Allen Site and Ratios of Bison:Deer and Pronghorn, Large Mammals:Small Mammals, and Upland Species:Riparian Species / 234 Table 13.4: Deposition Rates (Objects per Century) for Artifacts and Large and Small Mammals (Total Number of Identified Specimens) for Major Strata at the Allen Site / 236 Table 14.1: Comparison of Densities of Archaeological Material at the Allen and Lindenmeier Sites / 256

xv

Acknowledgments

he research that this volume presents was carried T out over much too long a period of time, and I need to begin by thanking my contributors for their patience. I hope it was worth the wait. Authors get the credit, but we could not have written what we did without the help of many people over the years. Tom Myers of the Nebraska State Museum (NSM) first gave me access to the Allen site collection, and Beth Wilkins at NSM graciously let me keep it longer than I was supposed to. George Corner at NSM helped with access to and analysis of the faunal collection from the Allen site. None of this work could have been done without money, and this came through the efforts of Bob Blasing at the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation, under Cooperative Agreements 9-FC-60-1060 with the University of Nebraska, Lincoln (UNL), and 3-FC-6002710 with the University of Colorado, Boulder. Bob also provided indispensable support on field visits to Medicine Creek. Practical help came from many places. First and foremost, Joyce Wike, coauthor of the original publication on the Allen site and widow of Preston Holder, the site’s excavator, unexpectedly presented me with a box containing Holder’s field notes, other excavation records, and a variety of profiles and maps, which had been in storage in her garage for many years. Much of what we have been able to do in this volume would have been impossible without these records (and thank you to Jim Gibson, then chair of the Anthropology Department at UNL, for telling her about our work on the collection). Steve Holen, now of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, first introduced me to Medicine Creek, and Bob and Shirley Linderholm

welcomed us whenever we were able to spend time there. Undergraduates at the University of Nebraska, particularly Amy Koch, Todd Ahlman, and Todd Butler, did much of the initial counting and cataloging of the lithic assemblage. Nancy Hamblin collected most of the data on the faunal collection. Jeff Eighmy at Colorado State University offered temporary lab space while I was in Fort Collins. Artifact illustrations were done by Eric Carlson, Koni Fujiwara, and Mark Muniz; Mark also spent hours scanning and cleaning up digital images. The production of species-specific antisera for the blood residue analysis reported in chapter 10 was made possible by a University of Calgary Research Grant to Dr. Howard Ceri, Department of Biological Sciences, University of Calgary (Ceri and M. Newman, principal investigators). We have all also benefited from intellectual help from our friends and colleagues (not to mention from commiseration over a project that seemed like it might never end). At one time or another, conversations with Peter Bleed, Cathy Cameron, Larry Conyers, Linda Cordell, Frank Eddy, George Frison, Matt E. Hill, Vance Holliday, Eric Ingbar, Mike Jochim, Peggy Jodry, Art Joyce, Bob Kelly, Marcel Kornfeld, Jason Labelle, Mary Lou Larson, Steve Lekson, Fred Sellet, Payson Sheets, Dennis Stanford, Barbara Voorhies, Peter Woodman, and no doubt others whom we do not mean to leave out have made this a better volume than it would have been without their help. Dave Meltzer did a particularly prompt and thoughtful review of the penultimate version of this volume, and his suggestions strengthened it greatly. David Holtby, now retired from the University of

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Acknowledgments

New Mexico Press, watched over this volume up to its final acceptance; aspects of the process he oversaw are no doubt contributing to his present bliss. Lisa Pacheco and Elise McHugh oversaw the final production, and Elisabeth A. Graves did a meticulous job of copyediting. It is customary to apologize in settings like this to long-suffering spouses and children. I have worked hard to make this unnecessary, and I hope I have been successful. I will say, though, that, after reaching an agreement that Sean could not complain about her big project taking too long to finish, it is officially her turn. Finally, one of the greatest blessings of working on the Medicine Creek sites was the opportunity to

get to know E. Mott Davis, whose work at Red Smoke and Lime Creek laid the basis for much of what we have written here. As this project gathered steam, Mott picked charcoal from sediment samples he had saved from his excavations, excavated through his files to find records of his visits to the Allen site that proved to be essential in resolving ambiguities in the other field documentation, shared his memories of what it was like to work at Medicine Creek in the 1950s, and generally enriched the experience of working on this project with his good humor and good company. His death in 1998 was a loss to all who knew him. Like everything that our Medicine Creek work has produced, this volume is dedicated to his memory.

1

chapter 1

Introduction Douglas B. Bamforth

Documenting the contemporaneity of humans and extinct animals in the New World, and thus forcing American society to acknowledge the great antiquity of Native American occupation here, was one of American archaeology’s major accomplishments in the first part of the twentieth century. From the 1920s onward, excavations at Folsom, Lindenmeier, Blackwater Draw, and other localities on the Great Plains (Barbour and Schultz 1932; Figgins 1927; Howard 1935; Roberts 1935) laid to rest the argument that Indian people had entered the Americas very recently and simultaneously revealed an early way of life that captured, and continues to capture, the imagination of both professional archaeologists and the interested public. Paleoindian archaeological sites on the Great Plains produced the bones of large mammals in abundance, bones that were regularly associated with aesthetically pleasing and technically sophisticated stone tools, particularly spear points. Throughout most of the twentieth century, both archaeologists and the public in general viewed early human groups in North American as highly mobile, technologically hypersophisticated, specialized biggame hunters, a reconstruction seen as sharply divergent from more recent, locally adapted and regionally variable, ways of life. However, the burst of interest in Paleoindian archaeology that followed the initial discoveries at Folsom and elsewhere produced many excavations but fewer in-depth reports. Furthermore, technical developments in archaeological analysis and the increasing sophistication of supporting disciplines like geology have left even the most detailed work from the early days of Paleoindian archaeology out of date. In response

to these issues, Paleoindian archaeology since the 1970s has often focused on the analysis of existing collections and on reexcavating or otherwise redocumenting previously excavated sites (Boldurian and Cotter 1999; Frison and Todd 1987; M. E. Hill 2002; Hill et al. 1995; Johnson and Holliday 1997; Meltzer 2006; Todd et al. 1992; Wilmsen and Roberts 1984; and others). The accumulation of data from new sites and from reexaminations of old sites and existing collections has increasingly led to significant reevaluations of the traditional views of Paleoindian lifeways: recent syntheses have challenged these views on almost every point. This volume presents data derived from archaeological work at the Allen site (25FT50) and paleoenvironmental work in the region around this site that add to these challenges, painting a picture of early hunter-gatherer ways of life on the Plains that differs dramatically from the one that has been dominant for so long. To put these issues in perspective, and to situate the Allen site in the changing views of the Paleoindian period on the Plains, the remainder of this chapter summarizes the now-traditional view of Paleoindian lifeways and the recent challenges to it. Changing Views of Paleoindian Archaeology Later chapters in this volume document the intermittent occupation of the Allen site from approximately 11,000 cal B.C. until approximately 7500 cal B.C., a span of time that corresponds roughly to the entire post-Clovis Paleoindian period (Holliday 2000a). The collection includes no Folsom diagnostics, but the lower levels of the site clearly date to Folsom times, and the site

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Chapter 1

collection includes projectile points with stylistic links to post-Folsom Paleoindian occupations on the Western Plains (chapter 10). The nearby Lime Creek and Red Smoke sites produced similar material (Davis 1954a, 1962; Hicks 2002). The Medicine Creek drainage was thus integrated with the widely known terminal Pleistocene/Early Holocene ways of life elsewhere on the Plains. Recent Views of Paleoindian Lifeways Kelly and Todd’s (1988) reconstruction of Paleoindian lifeways has provided the basis for most research on the early occupation of the Great Plains for the past two decades. In this view, the terminal Pleistocene and Early Holocene saw relatively rapid, continuous, and more or less unprecedented climatic and thus vegetational change, creating patterns of animal densities and movements that were both difficult to predict and unlike anything that has existed since Paleoindian times. Paleoindian population densities were likely also very low, making it difficult to rely on neighbors for information about resource availability in distant areas. In response, human groups are argued to have focused on large game, which they pursued more or less continuously, beginning a search for new prey immediately following a successful kill. The results of this would have been frequent territory shifts, rare reuse of specific points on the landscape, group movements over very large areas, and little or no seasonal differentiation of activities or group composition. Instead of relying on detailed knowledge of the local landscape, Paleoindian adaptations have been seen as based on a flexible, raw material– conservative, and widely useful tool kit that made this pattern possible—they are said to have been “technology oriented” instead of “place oriented.” Kelly and Todd’s original discussion focused particularly on the earliest parts of the Paleoindian period (on the Plains, the Clovis period). However, Clovis sites are rare, especially on the Plains, and their discussion relied primarily on evidence from later portions of the Paleoindian period. Recognizing this, Kelly and Todd suggested that important aspects of their argument could be extended to the Paleoindian

period as a whole. This view has been particularly central to studies of the Folsom period (i.e., Amick 1996; Boldurian 1991; Hofman 1991, 1992, 2002, 2003; Ingbar 1992; Meltzer 2006). There are three particularly critical and interrelated components of this now-dominant perspective. These components are (1) that Paleoindians moved over extraordinarily large portions of the landscape; (2) that these movements were more or less continuous, seasonally unpatterned, and nonrepetitive; and (3) that this kind of mobility depended on a flaked stone technology of unparalleled technical virtuosity, with tools designed to be recycled from one form to another over the course of their useful lives and raw material used extraordinarily conservatively. Each of these draws on different aspects of the Paleoindian database. Discussions of long-distance movements by Paleoindian groups go back at least to Witthoft’s (1952) work at the Shoop site, a fluted point locality in eastern Pennsylvania. Witthoft observed that the Shoop assemblage was made up almost entirely of Onondaga chert, available no closer than outcrops some 300 km away in upstate New York. Witthoft argued that this implies movement from those outcrops to eastern Pennsylvania, and his logic—that the presence of large quantities of material from distant sources implies that human groups collected that material at those quarries and transported it themselves—is fundamental to reconstructions of Paleoindian mobility. More global inferences regarding large scales of Paleoindian movement derive from Goodyear’s (1989) discussion, which observed that exotic stone was present in many eastern Paleoindian assemblages. Well-known Plains sites like Blackwater Draw are dominated by exotic stone (Hester 1972), as are other sites on the Southern Plains and elsewhere (Hofman et al. 1990; Meltzer 2006; Wheat 1972), suggesting a similarly large range of movement to that inferred in the east. The ubiquity of large mammal bone in Paleoindian sites on the Plains has fostered the view that early humans in the region were more or less specialized big-game hunters, and inferences about the way in which Plains Paleoindian groups moved within these large ranges derive primarily from studies of large

Introduction /

bison kills. Large Paleoindian communal bison kills contrast sharply with well-known kills dated within the last 2,000 years on the Northern and Northwestern Plains (particularly see Todd 1987; Todd et al. 1990) in ways that are consistent with this view. Although recent kill sites, at least on the Northern Plains, were often reused again and again, Paleoindian kill sites were rarely used more than once. Where recent kills tended to be heavily processed, Paleoindian kills show evidence of limited butchery, and Paleoindian sites sometimes produce significant quantities of bone that appear to represent food stores that were never used. Taking the Plains as a whole, Paleoindian kills appear to have been carried out during every season of the year, whereas recent kills cluster in the autumn. These patterns suggest that Paleoindian groups moved unpredictably from locale to locale and hunted in essentially the same way year-round, abandoning the remains of one kill as soon as they made another. Finally, the geographic unpredictability of a way of life like this would have made it difficult to predict when a group would have access to raw material to refurbish their tools. The undoubted sophistication of Paleoindian spear points and at least some other tools offers evidence that one solution to this problem was to invest in highly skilled toolmaking, with individual tools carefully designed for long useful lives, in order to conserve stone. In this view, Paleoindians were “hightech foragers” (Kelly and Todd 1988). Paleoindian technology is seen as primarily reliant on bifaces, which were used both as cores and as blanks for knives and projectile points. In a similar fashion, individual tools are thought either to have been resharpened until they were no longer useful or to have been recycled from one form to another as needed. Challenges and New Perspectives The view of Paleoindian groups (as highly, unpredictably, and nonrepetitively mobile, without significant seasonal variation in activities or group size and composition, and dependent on an extremely sophisticated technology designed to extend the useful life of individual implements as long as possible) has dominated the literature for most of the last two decades. One aspect

3

of this view was abandoned fairly quickly: structured geographic distributions of projectile points made from specific kinds of raw material suggested early on that Folsom groups followed fairly regular cycles of movement within fairly well-defined, albeit often astonishingly large, territories (i.e., Amick 1995, 1996; Hofman 1991, 1992, 2003; Ingbar 1992). Other parts of the traditional reconstruction have persisted, though, particularly the high-tech forager view of Paleoindian technology. However, there has also been a range of overt challenges to the dominant view, which typically grow out of an increasing awareness of the range of variation in the Paleoindian archaeological record. For example, the argument that there is little or no seasonal variation in Paleoindian hunting patterns depends on lumping together all bison kills across the entire Great Plains, without attempting to distinguish communal from noncommunal kills (i.e., Todd et al. 1990). In contrast, studies that focus on large bone beds and that consider specific regions of the Plains have drawn different conclusions, although there are disagreements about just what the patterns in these data may be. For example, large Paleoindian bison kills on the Northwestern Plains appear to cluster in the cold season (Frison 1982; McCartney 1990). However, M. E. Hill (2005) argues that large kills were primarily cold-season events on the open grasslands, whereas they were carried out in the warm season in other parts of the Plains; in contrast, Bement (1999:172–173) argues that large Folsom kills on the Southern Plains were late summer/early fall events, suggesting the possibility of temporal or spatial variation in season of kills. Importantly, Bement argues further that late winter/early spring Folsom kills in the south were both smaller and more intensively processed than cold-season kills but that, despite this more intensive processing, small kills appear to have produced significantly smaller quantities of meat than the less heavily processed large kills. This suggests that hunters in this region were likely working to provision smaller groups of people in the warm season than in the cold season (cf. Hill 2001). Although there is thus no clear consensus in these studies about the exact seasonal pattern of large- and small-group hunting, all

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Chapter 1

of these arguments imply the likelihood of systematic seasonal differences in social group size and activities, and there are strong theoretical reasons for expecting this to be the case (Bamforth 1988a). It is also not clear that Paleoindian groups were as specialized on bison as the archaeological literature suggests they were. Both other large mammals (including deer and antelope) and much smaller game have been recognized in Paleoindian faunal assemblages for many years (e.g., Irwin-Williams et al. 1973; Johnson 1977; Wheat 1979; Wilmsen and Roberts 1984), and some archaeologists have argued that we should view Paleoindians as generalists rather than as specialized big-game hunters (Greiser 1985; Kornfeld 1988, 2002). Byers and Ugan’s (2005) recent analysis of the implications of optimization theory for Clovis-period hunting indicates that it was probably impossible for a true specialization on large-game hunting to have existed even at that time. Although their discussion focuses on elephant procurement, it is relevant to later periods as well: essentially, their results suggest that all mammals the size of rabbits or larger must have been taken regularly by all groups on the Plains, even though the largest mammals likely dominated the diet. The available data are consistent with this conclusion, both for Clovis times (Cannon and Meltzer 2004) and for Folsom and later periods (Labelle 2005). The overwhelming emphasis on bison in well-studied post-Clovis Paleoindian sites probably results as much, and perhaps more, from the choices archaeologists make about where to dig as it does about the choices Paleoindians made about what to eat. Evidence for regional land-use patterns is also more complex than previous views imply. For example, several lines of evidence suggest that Paleoindian groups used different parts of the Plains in different ways, returning to some localities over and over again over very long periods of time and using other localities only once (Bamforth and Becker 2000; Bamforth et al. 2005; Labelle 2005). Although it does appear to be true that Paleoindian groups rarely reused specific locations to carry out large bison kills, it is equally true that they often used specific locations for other purposes in very repetitive ways over very long periods of time

(Bamforth et al. 2005; Johnson 1987). Archaeological indicators of range sizes are also mixed: studies of raw material use do not uniformly show long-distance movement of substantial amounts of stone. If raw material usage measures Paleoindian range size, the evidence indicates that many Paleoindian groups moved within relatively small areas. Indeed, raw material use is extremely variable, with an overall pattern suggesting that reliance on nonlocal stone depended on local patterns of raw material availability (Bamforth 2002a; Janetski 2002; Letourneau 2000). Other evidence also suggests that there may have been important temporal shifts in hunting practices and land-use patterns over the course of the Paleoindian period (Blackmar 2001; Hill 2001; Laughlin 2002; Muniz 2005): aggregating data from the entire period is thus likely to mask important patterns of variation. Perhaps most clearly, close study of Paleoindian technology (i.e., Bamforth 2002a, 2003; Letourneau 2000; Muniz 2005) finds virtually no support for the high-tech forager reconstruction. The available data indicate that Paleoindian bifaces were designed for reduction into finished tools, not for use as cores, and that they were transported in forms that were exceptionally poorly suited to use as cores. Bifacial cores are virtually unknown in Paleoindian assemblages, and blanks used to produce nonbifacial tools were struck from nonbifacial cores more frequently, and often much more frequently, than from bifaces. Paleoindian lithic analysis widely neglects the study of unmodified flakes, but the limited published evidence indicates that debitage assemblages are often dominated by core reduction rather than biface reduction (also see Bamforth and Becker 2000). There are no data consistent with unusually high rates of tool resharpening, and evidence for recycling tools from one form to another is extremely limited and purely anecdotal. Despite repeated discussions emphasizing the transformation of bifacial cores into finished tools (particularly see Hofman 1991, 1992, 2003), no artifact from any Paleoindian site anywhere on the Great Plains or anywhere else has ever been shown to have been made by recycling such a core (although a handful of Folsom points appear to have been made

Introduction /

on flakes struck from bifacial cores). Indeed, none of the handful of very large bifacial cores that figure so prominently in recent Folsom studies derives from a context that can be shown to be of Paleoindian age; despite their prominence in the literature, the antiquity of these artifacts is simply unknown (particularly see Letourneau’s [2000] discussion of “Frank’s biface” from the Blackwater Draw site). Paleoindian groups are thus increasingly seen as having relied on a variety of large and small game (and probably other resources) and as closely linked to local conditions in different parts of the Plains. Mobility patterns seem likely to have varied greatly across the Plains, suggesting the existence of regionally distinct populations in different areas. As Labelle (2005) notes, this suggests “place-oriented” rather than “technology-oriented” ways of life, and the poor fit between widespread views of Paleoindian technology and the available data on Paleoindian stone tool production and use supports this conclusion. Close relations to local conditions also imply changes as those conditions changed, and such changes are increasingly visible, if only dimly. The past decade or so of Paleoindian research has thus increasingly recognized the complexity of the geographic and temporal patterns in the early archaeology of the Great Plains. At the same time, the proliferation of new data, often from previously studied sites, has challenged, and sometimes refuted, important parts of long-standing views of the ways of life that this archaeology records. It is increasingly evident that Paleoindian land use was geographically varied: some localities attracted human use more than others and did so for very long periods of time. There is also fairly good evidence for both seasonal variation in activities and adaptive change over time. Paleoindian archaeology on the Plains is thus at a kind of turning point, in large part because evidence accumulating from detailed analyses of new sites and existing collections paints a picture that is increasingly at odds with the views that have dominated the field in the past. Importantly, many of the recent challenges to the dominant view rest on analyses of data from broad samples of many kinds of sites and artifacts. This

5

emphasis on the diversity of Paleoindian archaeology stands in stark contrast to much of the research that has supported the now-traditional view, which has emphasized one kind of site—large bison bone beds— and one class of artifact—projectile points. The narrow emphases of so much of Paleoindian research have had important effects on reconstructions of Paleoindian lifeways. For example, as noted above, the notion that Paleoindian groups used the Plains landscape in nonrepetitive ways derives substantially from the lack of reuse of kill locales and the butchery patterns evident at these locales; other kinds of sites, including sites that have been in the archaeological literature for many years, have played almost no role at all in making this argument. Similarly, the overwhelming emphasis on projectile points, and corresponding neglect of other classes of artifacts, in Paleoindian lithic analysis has powerfully contributed to views of the sophistication of Paleoindian technology. This last point bears reemphasis. Projectile points have dominated Paleoindian archaeology in two important ways. On the one hand, there has been a substantial and long-standing emphasis on the details of projectile point typology and, particularly in Folsom archaeology, projectile point production, with neither of these topics linked clearly to any larger questions. Hofman (2002) has recently applauded the expansion of at least some Folsom research to topics beyond these. However, this applause neglects the second way in which projectile points dominate Paleoindian archaeology: even when Paleoindian archaeologists address topics beyond the nuts and bolts of points themselves, the data sets they rely on often consist largely or entirely of observations of points and point production debris. The implicit notion that projectile points by themselves can stand for entire tool assemblages (see, e.g., Hofman’s [2003] almost interchangeable use of the terms Folsom artifact and Folsom point) is clearest in the case of studies of Paleoindian range sizes and other aspects of mobility, which routinely draw conclusions based entirely or almost entirely on data from points (i.e., Amick 1996; Buchanan 2006; Hofman 1991, 1992, 2003; Meltzer 2006; Sellet 2004). However, even critiques of the traditional view sometimes follow this pattern: for

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Chapter 1

example, Letourneau’s (2000) arguments about the organization of Folsom technology derive from a study of 2,894 artifacts, 2,393 (82.7 percent) of which are points or point production debris; and Kornfeld’s (2002) argument that Folsom groups in the Colorado mountain parks were generalists rather than specialized big-game hunters rests on his analysis of a data set made up entirely of these classes of material. Medicine Creek: More than Bison and Spear Points The link between attempts to look beyond bison bone beds and projectile points and arguments that challenge the traditional view of Paleoindian lifeways implies that data from intact archaeological assemblages obtained from a wide range of kinds of sites will be essential to working out a new synthesis. This volume provides data on just such an assemblage from a residential base as one step toward this goal. The Allen site was discovered and tested in 1947. Preston Holder extensively excavated the site in 1948, and C. Bertrand Schultz did minor work at the site in 1949, both in connection with the construction of the dam that created Harry Strunk Lake and under the auspices of the Nebraska State Museum (NSM). However, the only publications on the site were short notes written immediately following the first year’s fieldwork (Holder and Wike 1949, 1950), although E. Mott Davis’s excavations at other Paleoindian sites at Medicine Creek (Red Smoke [25FT42] and Lime Creek [25FT41]) produced more extensive reports that discuss information on the Allen site (see Davis 1954a, 1962). Despite Davis’s work, though, serious problems with the radiocarbon chronology for the Allen site in particular (Wedel 1986:66–71) and a shift in archaeological attention to large bison kills on the more western Plains (i.e., Frison 1974; Wheat 1972) combined to push all of the Medicine Creek sites into obscurity. As later chapters detail, the Allen site collection offers an opportunity to address many of the issues just discussed. First, it is located within a portion of the Great Plains where we know little about the Paleoindian period and thus provides a rare example of the ways of life led by Paleoindian groups off of the far

western Plains. As Seebach (2006) notes, the paucity of information on this area is entirely an artifact of site visibility and archaeological opportunity, and Allen and the other Medicine Creek sites open an important window into this region. Second, the Allen site was well stratified, well preserved, and well excavated, and it thus offers an assemblage that can be firmly dated and analyzed as an integrated whole. Finally, neither the Allen site nor either of the other extensively excavated Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites is a large bone bed; all three sites thus provide insights into aspects of the Paleoindian archaeological record that have received much less attention than large-scale bison hunting. The Study Area This volume is concerned with the Paleoindian archaeology and paleoenvironment of the lower reaches of the Medicine Creek drainage, located in Frontier County, southwestern Nebraska. Medicine Creek is one of the principal tributaries of the Republican River. The specific area considered here is defined largely by the extent of Harry Strunk Lake, an artificial lake formed by the impoundment of Medicine Creek in 1949, and includes a substantial segment of Medicine Creek itself, along with much of the drainage of Lime Creek, a smaller stream flowing into Medicine Creek from the west (Figure 1.1). The Medicine Creek Dam is approximately 13.3 km (8 mi) upstream from the confluence of the creek and the Republican River; before it was destroyed by erosion, the Allen site was approximately 1.7 km (1 mi) upstream from the dam. Medicine and Lime creeks are both deeply incised into the surrounding loess plains, producing relatively narrow valleys bordered by steep bluffs and surrounded by level uplands. Although much of these uplands is now under cultivation, prior to white contact they were open prairie dominated by mid- and short grasses. The drainages themselves supported more diverse vegetation, including an attenuated version of the gallery forests found in the Missouri River drainage to the east (see chapter 7). Climatically, Medicine Creek falls close to the 20-in mean annual rainfall line that is often taken as marking the boundary between the eastern bluestem prairies and the western short-grass

Introduction /

7

Figure 1.1 Locations of the Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites (redrawn from Davis 1962: fig. 2).

steppe (Wedel 1986:16). However, the Plains climate is marked as much by variation as by average conditions, and the actual mix of grasses and other plants in the region fluctuates dramatically in response to fluctuations in temperature and precipitation (Bamforth 1988a; Coupland 1958; Wedel 1986). Prior to white settlement, the Medicine Creek region supported a fairly abundant population of bison and pronghorn antelope on the uplands, along with lesser numbers of deer, elk, and other woodland species in the more vegetated areas along the drainages. Wedel (1986:22–23) catalogs a wide range of other mammalian species available in the region and known to have been taken by prehistoric peoples, including grizzly and black bears, wolves, and a variety of other fur-bearing species. In addition, both migratory and resident populations of birds appear to have been plentiful, and fish and shellfish were available in the streams. Medicine Creek and the lower reaches of Lime Creek are particularly significant in the region around them for two reasons. First, they are incised

sufficiently deeply in their courses to penetrate the bedrock underlying the region’s thick loess mantle, thereby reaching into the local aquifer; they are therefore perennial spring-fed streams in a region where many drainages hold water for only part of the year. Second, in penetrating this bedrock, the drainages have also exposed extensive deposits of Smoky Hill jasper (also referred to as Republican River, Alma, Graham, or Niobrara jasper and as Niobrarite), and the Medicine Creek area is therefore an important source of fairly high-quality stone for tool production (Holen [1991], Knudson [2002], and Stein [2005] discuss this raw material in more detail). The Medicine Creek Paleoindian Project and the Present Volume The chapters that follow present the results of a variety of studies focused on the issues and area just described. These studies combine two general domains of work, one focused on material collected during fieldwork carried out in the late 1940s and one focused on field

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Chapter 1

studies carried out from 1989 to 1995. The remainder of this chapter describes the overall organization of the research and of the present volume. Studying the Paleoindian Landscape at Medicine Creek As Figure 1.1 shows, the three Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites are located in different areas of the overall drainage, and it is clear that the contents of these sites differ in important ways (Bamforth 2002b; Hicks 2002). Unlike most localities with sites of this age, Medicine Creek therefore offers a chance to examine the ways in which Paleoindian groups varied their use of different parts of a local landscape, and the Medicine Creek Project was designed with this in mind. The archaeological collections made by the NSM work on the Medicine Creek sites provided the starting point for the work presented here. The collections from all three of these sites include stone and bone artifacts and unmodified faunal remains, along with at least small samples of sediment, charcoal, and other noncultural materials. These collections thus offer a substantial body of cultural material and a less substantial body of paleoenvironmental material. In addition to the work with this material that this volume documents, Hicks (2002) has reanalyzed the lithic assemblage from the Lime Creek site and Jones (1999) has studied the fauna. Knudson (2002) has updated Davis’s initial description of the Red Smoke lithic assemblage, and the fauna from Red Smoke are currently under study (M. E. Hill, personal communication, 2006). The second component of the project was designed to provide information on the kinds of settings within which each of these sites was located and thereby to describe the basic pattern of variation in local environmental conditions within the study area. To do this, field studies combined detailed stratigraphic/geomorphic description with the collection of sediment samples to be used in a program of radiocarbon dating and pollen/phytolith analysis. We sampled four

locations (May [chapter 3] discusses this in detail). These included one locality on the main axis of Medicine Creek, chosen to stand in for the Allen site, which was destroyed by erosion following the impoundment of Harry Strunk Lake, and three localities scattered up Lime Creek. These three include the Lime Creek and Red Smoke sites and an additional locality near the head of Lime Creek, the Stafford site. As a group, these localities provide a series of paleoenvironmental snapshots from Medicine Creek into the adjacent uplands, making it possible to assess variation in vegetation and other environmental characteristics that are likely to have influenced human settlement. Organization of This Volume This volume focuses on the pattern of Paleoindian land use represented by the Medicine Creek sites and by the Allen site in particular. The core of the analyses here thus examines the character of Paleoindianperiod environmental change in the region in and around Medicine Creek and the archaeological evidence for human responses to this change. The data and analyses addressing these issues fall into four sections. First, this chapter and chapter 2 provide the conceptual and historical background to the study of the Paleoindian occupation of the Medicine Creek region. Second, chapters 3 through 7 present analyses of a variety of evidence addressing the paleoenvironmental and geomorphic context of the Medicine Creek sites. These chapters rely both on material recovered during the excavation of the Allen site and on new field investigations carried out between 1989 and 1995. Third, chapters 8 through 12 discuss the 1947 through 1949 fieldwork at the Allen site, the spatial structure of the site, and the archaeological material recovered from it. Finally, chapter 13 synthesizes information from the preceding sections, focusing particularly on change over time at Medicine Creek, and chapter 14 returns to the general issues raised above regarding the implications of the Allen site data for Paleoindian archaeology in general.

9

chapter 2

Previous Paleoindian Research at Medicine Creek E. Mott Davis The Medicine Creek drainage, with its wooded valleys cut deeply below the grassland of southwestern Nebraska, has long attracted the interest of archaeologists and paleontologists, who have found abundant signs of a long history of human, animal, and environmental events. If we scan that history, going back in time from today, we can see most recently, in the last 40 years, the building of campgrounds and clusters of summer cottages, brought on by the construction of the Medicine Creek Dam and the filling of Harry Strunk Lake in 1951. The lake has served to create abundant recreational opportunities in what was once a rather isolated farmland. Earlier, for three-quarters of a century before the building of the dam, farmers grew wheat and fodder on the Plains upland surface and on the wide terraces and cleared bottoms of the valleys and raised cattle and swine in upland pastures and pens (Hoppes and Huber 1978:62). Still further in the past, before white settlement in the 1870s, the area often swarmed with bison; these were the hunting grounds of Pawnee Indian farmers whose villages were some 240 km (150 mi) to the east, as well as of Western Plains equestrian tribes such as the Cheyenne and Arapaho (Strong 1935:15, 26–27). Archaeological signs of earlier peoples—Indian farmers early in the present millennium, nomadic hunters for many thousands of years before that—are scattered throughout the Medicine Creek drainage, and fossil bones of animals now extinct, reaching back into remote geologic times, are found in eroding banks and gravel pits. The earliest scientific research in the Medicine Creek Valley was by paleontologists, with archaeologists soon to follow. In 1927 a farmer, Alex S. Keith,

found large fossil bones eroding out of the bank of a gully on the south side of Lime Creek, a small western tributary of Medicine Creek about 13.5 km (8.5 mi) north-northwest of Cambridge, the town where Medicine Creek flows into the Republican River. Mr. Keith suspected that the bones might be of scientific interest because he, like many other Nebraskans, knew of the fossils displayed at the Nebraska State Museum in Lincoln (now the University of Nebraska State Museum), and a number of people in this area had found fossil bones, some of which they had donated to the museum (e.g., Schultz 1934:373, no. 1, 381, no. 77). This lay interest was the fruit of more than 30 years of dedicated effort by the museum’s energetic director, Erwin H. Barbour (Schultz 1945), who had been publicizing the pioneering geologic and paleontological research that he and his colleagues were carrying on in the Central Plains. As a result of his work, the State Museum, with its mounted skeletons of mammoths and other behemoths of Nebraska’s distant past, had become well known to farmers and ranchers throughout the state (Barbour 1931:191–192). It was not surprising, then, that Alex Keith, farming 200 mi from the university, should notify the museum of his find or that Dr. Barbour would have the discovery investigated. Alex Keith’s fossil bones turned out to be those of a hitherto unknown genus of Pliocene proboscidean that Barbour (1927) named Amebelodon fricki, a shovel-tusked mastodon. This discovery marked the beginning of systematic scientific interest in the valley of Medicine Creek. Intermittently thereafter the museum sent field parties to the Medicine Creek Valley and vicinity to exploit the fossil fauna of late

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Chapter 2

Tertiary and Quaternary times (e.g., Barbour 1930; Schultz 1934:377, no. 22). But the museum’s interests were not limited to Tertiary and Quaternary faunas. Stimulated by the archaeological discoveries at Folsom, Blackwater Draw, and other Western Plains sites that demonstrated for the first time the presence of early hunting peoples in North America as early as late glacial times, the museum’s fieldworkers were alert for evidence of human activity in geologic contexts. Particularly active in this quest was C. Bertrand Schultz, Barbour’s student in paleontology and eventual successor as director of the museum. In his search for sites of “Early Man” Schultz enjoyed success, notably in 1932 at the Scottsbluff Bison Quarry in western Nebraska (Barbour and Schultz 1932; Schultz and Eiseley 1932, 1936) and in 1939 at the Lipscomb site in the Texas panhandle (Schultz 1943:244–248). Although no signs of late-glacial human activity came to light in the valley of Medicine Creek during this fieldwork, the research interest of the museum in Paleoindian studies became well established by these investigations, and finds of very early peoples were eventually to come to light in the Medicine Creek Valley, as the present volume bears witness. At the same time as the museum’s fieldwork, the more recent prehistory of the Republican River drainage was being investigated by archaeologists from the Nebraska State Historical Society and the University of Nebraska, a search that eventually brought them to Medicine Creek. As early as 1928, E. E. Blackman (1930) of the Historical Society noted pottery sites in the Republican Valley that were buried beneath as much as 2 ft of loess. Blackman’s successor, A. T. Hill, was aware by 1931 that the Medicine Creek Valley had abundant evidence of these sites (Strong 1935:242; Wedel 1982:23). With Hill’s cooperation and encouragement, William Duncan Strong, who taught at the University of Nebraska from 1929 to 1931, began a study of these sites, hamlets of horticulturists consisting of a few earth lodges each, which were widely distributed in Nebraska. He (1933:278, 1935:245–246) grouped them under the name Upper Republican culture, a complex now known to date within the period A.D. 1000–1400

(Wedel 1986:98, 130–131). Continuing the study of the Upper Republican culture for the Historical Society after Strong’s departure, Waldo R. Wedel (1934, 1935) and A. T. Hill uncovered house remains at four sites on Medicine Creek in 1933 and 1934 in the first archaeological excavations in the Medicine Creek Valley. In Wedel’s report he notes that Upper Republican sites in the Medicine Creek Valley “are present literally by the score” (1935:178). Concluding our history of early research, before and after World War II Schultz and his colleagues carried out further geologic and paleontological studies in the Republican River drainage as part of a statewide project to develop a chronology of Pleistocene sediments, soils, alluvial terraces, and faunas (Schultz and Stout 1945, 1948). Once formulated, this sequence (Schultz et al. 1951) provided the principal basis (until radiocarbon dating became available) for dating in the postwar investigations at Medicine Creek that are to be described here and also supplied information on the environment at the time the sites were occupied. This history of research provides a background for the extensive post–World War II scientific work at Medicine Creek that came about as part of a major water control project. At the end of the war, the National Water Development Program was put into operation, and the U.S. Bureau of Reclamation announced plans to build a dam on Medicine Creek as part of a larger Republican River Project. Construction, which began in 1947, was to be completed in 1949, and the Medicine Creek reservoir, renamed Harry Strunk Lake, was scheduled to reach normal pool level in 1951. When these plans were announced, an archaeological and paleontological salvage program was organized for the reservoir basin as part of the national Interagency Archeological and Paleontological Salvage Program that had been established for federal reservoirs by the Smithsonian Institution and the National Park Service (Roberts 1948, 1952; Spencer 1954 provides a popular account). In view of what was already known of the Medicine Creek Valley, it was clear that the construction of the dam and the filling of its reservoir would involve the destruction of many archaeological and paleontological sites.

Previous Paleoindian Research at Medicine Creek /

The first intensive work was on the more recent sites in the basin. Between 1946 and 1948 archaeologists from the Nebraska State Historical Society and the Smithsonian Institution’s Missouri River Basin Survey, headquartered in Lincoln, carried out surveys and excavations in a series of Upper Republican and earlier Plains Woodland sites on the alluvial terraces (Kivett 1949; for a later intensive single-site study, see Wood 1969:3–62). Meanwhile, the University of Nebraska State Museum, under Bertrand Schultz, began preliminary paleontological reconnaissance and further studies of the terrace sequence in 1946 and in 1947 carried out an intensive survey that eventually led to the discovery of Paleoindian sites (Schultz et al. 1948). Thus, while the archaeologists were at work on Woodland and Upper Republican sites on the terraces, the museum geologists and paleontologists were checking the deeper terrace fills and the Pleistocene and Pliocene exposures. Alex Keith’s Pliocene quarry (now numbered 25FT40 in the trinomial site designation system) was one of the latter, and major excavations were carried out there, as it was fated to be covered by the lake. On June 22, 1947, a catastrophic flash flood rolled down Medicine Creek and its tributaries, carving new exposures in the faces of the alluvial terraces (Wedel 1986:36). By this time the museum field party had found one Paleoindian site, known today as the Red Smoke site (25FT42), on Lime Creek about 1.3 km (0.3 mi) above its mouth. Reexamining freshly eroded cliff faces after the flood, the field party soon found two more such sites, the Lime Creek site (25FT41) on Lime Creek, about 0.5 km (0.3 mi) below (east of) Red Smoke, and the Allen site (25FT50)—the principal subject of the present volume—on the west bank of Medicine Creek, about 0.9 km (0.6 mi) below the mouth of Lime Creek. These three sites are known collectively as the Lime Creek (or, more recently, Medicine Creek) sites. In terms of the alluvial terrace chronology developed by Schultz and his colleagues, the three Lime Creek sites were near the base of Republican River Terrace 2A, interpreted as being late in an interstadial in the very Late Wisconsinan (Terrace 2A was at first called Terrace 2 [Schultz et al. 1948:37]; it has also been called the Stockville Terrace [Brice 1966:268, 278,

11

280–281]). This was believed to be a time when the climate was becoming drier and colder. In all three sites, most of the lithic material that was weathering out of the terrace fill was of a local jasper called variously Smoky Hill, Graham, or Republican River jasper (Wedel 1986:28), which outcrops in the Cretaceous Niobrara formation throughout this region and was traded widely in prehistory because of its good flaking qualities. Less common was a green quartzite found in the Ogallala formation above the Niobrara (Wedel 1986:30–31). It seemed likely that the sites were clustered here because of the availability of these materials. The museum tested the Allen site and carried out preliminary excavations at the Lime Creek and Red Smoke sites during summer 1947 and in November made a brief report of that work to the Fifth Plains Archeological Conference (Schultz and Frankforter 1949), also announcing the finds to the press (Blair 1947; Newsweek 1947; Time 1947). Other public notices followed (Science Digest 1948; Science Illustrated 1948; University of Nebraska Research Report n.d.), and a preliminary technical report appeared in 1948 (Schultz and Frankforter 1948). Today, more than four decades later, it is difficult to appreciate the excitement and contention that these discoveries stirred up. Paleoindian studies were, at that time, still in their infancy. Folsom and Blackwater Draw had been discovered and validated in the late 1920s and early 1930s and Lindenmeier in the late 1930s, but World War II had interrupted research, and there were still very few archaeological sites demonstrably in unequivocally Late Pleistocene contexts. More than half a century of enthusiastically announced but poorly substantiated “Early Man” finds had made many archaeologists skeptical—in some cases actually hostile—toward new reports of Paleoindian discoveries. The situation was not unlike that found today, more than 40 years later, in which any announcement of a pre-Clovis site can expect to be greeted with widespread skepticism. At Medicine Creek this problem of credibility was well illustrated by the reception given the news of the spectacular Lime Creek site, in which the cultural materials were eroding out of the base of a vertical loess

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cliff some 18 m (60 ft) high, suggesting to some observers that the site might be of extraordinary antiquity. Skeptics felt it was almost too dramatic to be true and suggested that the materials had slumped from a more recent site on the hillside above. The doubts were not diminished when the Lime Creek sites were reported in the press as “evidence of what is probably man’s earliest existence in the Western Hemisphere” (Newsweek 1947), a pronouncement regarded as unjustified hyperbole by most Plains archaeologists in view of the preliminary nature of the field investigations and also because little was yet known about Paleoindian chronology. Such statements aroused great professional concern, because of the fear that the Lime Creek sites could turn out to be another seeming breakthrough that would later have to be retracted, with inevitable damage to the credibility of archaeological research. However, Schultz’s interpretation of the field evidence, placing the sites near the base of the Terrace 2A fill of his alluvial sequence, made it evident to him that they were potentially of great importance. He contemplated an interdisciplinary field project in which research in archaeology, geology, and vertebrate and invertebrate paleontology would be coordinated. Confronted with the skepticism of the archaeological community—a serious matter in view of the funds that would have to be sought to investigate such deeply buried sites—he arranged the removal by machinery of enough overburden from the Allen site (the first site due to go under the waters of the new lake) to demonstrate that the cultural materials there were indeed in place in the Terrace 2A fill. That being demonstrated, concrete plans could be laid for detailed investigations. The impending rise of the reservoir gave urgency to the plans. The lake was scheduled to inundate the Allen site in 1949 and the Lime Creek site in 1950. At normal pool level, to be reached in 1951, the water would come to the edge of the Red Smoke site and would erode it during floods. The investigations, which are summarized very briefly here, took place in the seasons of 1948 through 1953. The Allen site was first. In summer 1948, with inundation only a year away, Preston Holder, then at

the University of Buffalo, was hired by the museum to come as an independent outsider to excavate that site. His work there removed any doubts as to the validity of the association of the cultural materials with the Late Pleistocene terrace fill. Holder and his wife, Joyce Wike, made a brief statement of the work at the Sixth Plains Conference in fall 1948 (Holder and Wike 1950) and published a preliminary report the following spring (Holder and Wike 1949). Brief further excavations were carried out by museum personnel in August 1949, a month before the cultural strata went under water (see chapter 9). After the preliminary analysis by Holder and Wike no further study of the Allen site data took place until nearly 40 years had passed. In the late 1980s the work began that is reported in later chapters of the present volume. We can summarize here the data from the Allen site as of 1949. Holder and Wike (1949) reported that the site had two cultural strata, called Occupation Levels 1 (lower) and 2, separated by about 1.5 ft (0.46 m) of lighter colored matrix, and the Intermediate Zone, containing little cultural material. The materials from the two levels constituted a single complex that Holder and Wike (1949:260) called the Frontier Culture Complex (the site is in Frontier County). Unprepared fireplaces, a wide variety of faunal material dominated by bison, and a broad range of artifact types were interpreted as indicating, in Level 1 at least, “a relatively permanent hunting encampment” (Holder and Wike 1949:262). Among the distinctive artifact forms were leaf-shaped projectile points with concave bases, “trapezoidal scrapers” closely resembling the Clear Fork gouges of Central Texas (Ray 1938), grooved spheroids called “bola weights,” and bone needles. Occupation Level 2 contained less evidence of activity than the lower level: “A smaller number of people were using the site for more [or] less successful hunting, with less stability of occupation” (Holder and Wike 1949:265). Other than the placement of the site in lower Republican River Terrace 2A, no dating of the site was possible, but three radiocarbon dates were later determined by Willard Libby in his pioneering laboratory at the University of Chicago. Two were from Occupation Level 1—8274±500 B.P. (C-108a [Libby 1955:107]) and

Previous Paleoindian Research at Medicine Creek /

10,493±1500 B.P. (C-470)—and one was from a mixed sample from both occupation zones—5256±350 B.P. (C-65 [Libby 1955:106]). These dates (which are not corrected or calibrated) are inconsistent, although the first two are in agreement at the 2-sigma level and almost so at 1-sigma. They were assayed by the solid carbon method that later was found to be vulnerable to atmospheric contamination (Taylor 1987:168). Wedel has correctly commented, “In effect, the site and its several occupancies remain undated” (1986:71). Nevertheless, if there were errors related to atmospheric contamination they should produce falsely young dates, so the first two dates cited here at least put the site in the Paleoindian range. In fall 1948, shortly after Holder finished his work at the Allen site, I joined the Medicine Creek research effort. I was appointed to the museum staff (and the anthropology faculty of the University of Nebraska) to continue the fieldwork at the two remaining sites, Lime Creek and Red Smoke. The preliminary work at those sites in summer 1947 (Schultz and Frankforter 1948) had revealed the cultural materials to be in place near the base of the Terrace 2A fill, but the documentation was not of a nature to convince doubting archaeologists. However, Holder and Wike’s work at the Allen site made it seem likely that the situation was similar at the other two sites. My initial task was to find out if this was the case. A few personal reminiscences about this work are not inappropriate here. I was a newcomer to the Plains, and this was my first position in charge of a field project, although I was by no means untrained. The opportunity presented by the fieldwork was, without exaggeration, exciting. Paleoindian studies were still in an early stage, and the mystery of those remote, little-known times lent a special character to the investigations; not only were we delving into America’s distant past, a stimulating realization in itself, but also that distant past represented little-known scientific territory and thus presented a real professional challenge. Also, archaeologists are fortunate in that the clinical attitude with which they view field evidence is tempered not only by the pleasure derived from work well done but also by the occasional good fortune of

13

finding well-crafted, aesthetically pleasing objects—for instance, skillfully made Paleoindian projectile points. Furthermore, one never loses the thrill of contacting the past: the realization that the last person to touch the object we have just found lived hundreds or thousands of years ago. My work at Medicine Creek promised to be unusually rewarding. There were, however, other aspects to the picture. It was clear that in the Lime Creek research an understanding of modern people would be at least as important as any investigation of ancient folk. The Central Plains archaeological community remained to be fully convinced that Lime Creek and Red Smoke were indeed undisturbed Paleoindian sites, and on both sides of that issue feelings had been bruised by the differences of opinion. I knew that the fieldwork would be followed with critical interest by the archaeological community no less than by my paleontologistemployer, Bertrand Schultz, and his colleagues, who fully expected that the investigation would validate, or at least provide verifiable data in support of, their appraisal of the significance of the sites—as indeed proved to be the case. The excavation techniques and the documentation would have to be exemplary, or my first job as a full-fledged professional archaeologist could well be my last. For success in the field we would need the good fortune to discover diagnostic artifacts in situ, for radiocarbon dating was only beginning in those days and could not be counted on to solve crucial chronological problems. A heartening aspect of this potentially difficult situation soon became apparent. I and my crew found that we had genuine moral support, and often material support, from everyone in the Central Plains archaeological and paleontological communities. Despite strong differences of opinion regarding the field evidence gathered so far at Red Smoke and Lime Creek, there was unanimity about the need for a definitive investigation and a widespread hope that it would produce solid evidence about Paleoindian times. Not surprisingly, once the fieldwork was under way professional visitors kept dropping in. Of course they unobtrusively scrutinized our procedures; they were, after all, fieldworkers themselves and were interested in

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how we were attacking the physical problems of the excavation. But more important were the encouragement and the helpful suggestions we received, some of them of crucial importance. Bertrand Schultz found funds and provided administrative backing and personal encouragement while at the same time leaving me largely free to run the excavation according to my best judgment. On the archaeological side I recall, as an example, a visit by Waldo Wedel, then in charge of the Missouri River Basin Surveys, who came by while we were removing overburden with a heavy bulldozer at the Lime Creek site. We had encountered a paleosol several feet higher than the expected cultural zone, and I was concerned that it might have signs of a more recent archaeological component than the one we were after. If it indeed was a later occupation, we probably could not investigate it properly in the time available (the site was, after all, due to go underwater) and still do justice to the deeper cultural zone that was the objective of our work. Wedel suggested that we leave the higher paleosol untouched in one half of the bulldozer trench in order to test it for cultural evidence and continue down with the bulldozer in the other half to make the deeper zone accessible. I agreed heartily. The subsequent work revealed that the higher soil zone did indeed contain a significant cultural component, half of which we had demolished with the bulldozer (it is called Lime Creek III in the formal report [Davis 1962]); but only by that demolition had we been able to reach the deeper zone, Lime Creek I, and bring to fruition the investigation that had been initiated by the museum field party two years earlier. In retrospect, Wedel’s suggestion represented the most realistic strategy, given our time and budgetary constraints, but it would have been a most difficult decision for a beginning archaeologist to make without support from someone of his stature. Another visit of a quite different sort was an unexpectedly gratifying encounter with the press. Because of problems with publicity about Lime Creek in earlier years, and the apprehension anyone with research in progress is likely to feel about the press, I hoped to avoid public statements until long after the field season was over, except perhaps to give a human-interest

interview for local newspapers. I was understandably dismayed when a team from the Des Moines Register and Tribune appeared at the site unannounced. But Louis Cook, Register and Tribune writer, and John Houlette, photographer, understanding my caution, first made the appropriate administrative contacts in Lincoln and then made it clear that they were interested in transmitting to readers an understanding of the way research takes place, not a story of spectacular breakthroughs (joining us in camp, they were a little disillusioned to find we did not spend our evenings around a campfire playing guitars and singing). Cook (1949) wrote an excellent feature article describing the work and the general problems of “Early Man” research and submitted it to me for prepublication comment and approval—an almost unheard of move at that time in newspaper work—and we were much the better for the whole experience. As for the local press, photographs of the excavation aroused inquiries among our friends in the area as to why those prehistoric Indians would live in such small rooms. We assured them that our 5-ft excavation squares were only that and were not the outlines of ancient living quarters. Other aspects of the experience were similarly encouraging. The museum field party that summer of 1949 was a joint one, both archaeological and paleontological, the paleontological crew working mostly at Alex Keith’s Pliocene quarry across Lime Creek Valley from the Lime Creek site. Loren Toohey, then a graduate student in paleontology, was in charge of the paleontological crew and the field camp. He was an experienced hand at fieldwork on the Plains, and it was well that he was. At midnight on our fourth night in the field a classic Plains thunderstorm (a fine description of such storms is in Wedel 1986:35) blasted in from the northwest and laid our camp utterly flat, ripping several of the tents to pieces. Quickly Toohey arranged with a generous local landowner that we could move into a temporarily abandoned farmhouse not far from the Red Smoke site. This was my first encounter with the friendliness and helpfulness of the people of the Medicine Creek area and in nearby Cambridge, without whose support our work would have been most difficult. We had similar cooperation and assistance from the Bureau of

Previous Paleoindian Research at Medicine Creek /

Reclamation engineers who were building the dam. All in all, I was to find that, even though my first field project was full of stress on the technical side, it was a rewarding experience. Turning to what confronted us technically, the Red Smoke site, as an object of scientific excavation, did not appear to present many difficulties. The Lime Creek site, though, was intimidating, its loess cliff rising vertically almost 60 ft above the flint chips and animal bones that were eroding out near the base. My training had never included practice in the use of dynamite and a 13-ton bulldozer as excavation equipment, but that is what we began with at the Lime Creek site, following the progress of the overburden removal with surveying instruments and switching to hand tools when we were not far above the cultural material. We then worked for week after week in the heat of the excavation trench, uncovering a gratifying abundance of cultural evidence undisturbed in the terrace fill but not finding anything diagnostic until the very last day of the season, when the midsection of a small diagonally flaked biface came to light and demonstrated that we were indeed in a Paleoindian component. Delaying our departure for a day, I called the home office at the university, and a crowd of archaeologists and paleontologists drove the 200 mi from Lincoln to observe the specimen as it lay in situ. Other diagnostic specimens later provided further support, at both Lime Creek and Red Smoke. In the subsequent fieldwork, the need to validate the Paleoindian assignment of the sites was no longer a factor. Returning, then, to a more formal chronicle of the field research, my major investigation at the Lime Creek site took place in July and August 1949. Several weekend projects followed between October 1949 and June 1950. By August 1950, the cultural strata were underwater. Brief preliminary statements on this work appeared (Davis 1951:9–19, 1953a:381–382, 1954a:89–123; Davis and Schultz 1952:289), and a final report was later published (Davis 1962). Summarizing the information from the Lime Creek site, it, like Allen, is in the lower part of Terrace 2A; in fact, it is here that the relationship to Schultz’s Republican River terrace sequence is clearest, and

15

the Lime Creek site is the type site for this terrace fill (Schultz et al. 1951:30–31). A radiocarbon date of 9524±450 B.P. (sample C-471 [Libby 1955:107]; see also Davis 1962:31), from charcoal below the lowest cultural stratum, is difficult to evaluate because it was measured by the solid carbon method that was, as noted above, subject to atmospheric contamination. The site, as reported in the final publication (Davis 1962), has three cultural strata: Lime Creek I, the lowest; Lime Creek II, 3 ft higher, containing too little cultural evidence to permit interpretation; and Lime Creek III, 8 ft above Lime Creek I. Both Strata I and III were camping places of mobile groups who hunted, prepared food, and manufactured tools of Smoky Hill jasper. In Lime Creek I the animals eaten were primarily beaver and pronghorn, whereas in Stratum III the bones were exclusively those of bison, a change that may reflect a gradually drying and cooling climate. The diagnostic artifacts, seven in number, were of late Paleoindian types. In Stratum I were two points identified in the 1962 report as a Scottsbluff and a Milnesand (Wheat [1972:156, 158], in a later comparative study, classifies them as San Jon points) and a transversely flaked point fragment, as well as 17 bifaces called “Lime Creek knives,” but are now seen to be preforms (Wedel 1986:69; Wheat 1972:144). Zone III had a Plainview point and a Milnesand point lying together and an obliquely flaked midsection of a point. The last site to be investigated was the Red Smoke site (25FT42), farther up Lime Creek than the Lime Creek site. Although not threatened by inundation at normal pool level, it is eroded during floods. It underwent preliminary investigation in early summer 1947. My major excavations took place in the summers of 1949 through 1953. Annual reports were submitted to the National Park Service, the sponsoring agency (Davis 1951, 1952, 1953a, 1954a). A preliminary statement of the first four seasons of work was published (Davis 1953b:382–385), and the data from those seasons were presented as part of a Ph.D. dissertation (Davis 1954b: ch. 5 and app.). Analysis of certain lithics from the site was carried out in the mid-1970s, as related below. The results of the last two seasons of fieldwork and of the more recent lithic analysis have not been published.

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Red Smoke is a stratified site in which eight cultural strata were distinguished. What follows is a very brief summary of the more salient data. The major component is Zone V (counting from the bottom), approximately 30 cm (1 ft) thick, representing a campsite and workshop with abundant lithic refuse in which the most distinctive artifacts have been identified as Plainview points. Not far below is Zone IV, with materials resembling Holder and Wike’s Frontier Complex at the Allen site. Above Zone V is an erosional unconformity, presumably only of local significance. Three charcoal samples from a thin cultural zone, Zone VI, on and just above the unconformity, gave radiocarbon dates (not corrected or calibrated) of 7970±210 (Tx-333 [Valastro et al. 1967:451]), 8050±500 (Tx6729 [S. Valastro, personal communication, 1989]), and 8270±80 (Tx-6730). The last specimen was at the unconformity and might have been in Zone V but in the field appeared most likely to be in Zone VI. In 1974–1976 Ruthann Knudson, then at the University of Idaho, undertook an analysis of the lithics from the site under a grant from the National Science Foundation. She completed a great deal of descriptive and analytical work on the tools, as well as identifying raw materials and their sources in the field, but it was not possible to complete the project. However, as a result of this work, Dr. Knudson felt (personal communication, 1990) that the Red Smoke “Plainview points,” as I had called them, should not be so classified because the assemblage manifests a bifacial core-reduction strategy that is significantly different from the strategy

of prepared core and specialized blade production of the classic Plainview and other late Paleoindian complexes to the south and west. These differences, she suspected, might be a reflection of a basic division of High Plains late Paleoindian cultures into two technoadaptive systems. No more analyses of the data from Red Smoke had been carried out at the present writing (1991), although plans for more work were being formulated. Meanwhile, summaries of the information from the three Lime Creek sites are seen in reviews of Plains archaeology (e.g., Gunnerson 1987:18; Jennings 1968:99–101; Wedel 1986:66–71), and the material is frequently mentioned in comparative studies of other sites. For instance, Wheat (1972:156, 158) and Johnson and Holliday (1980:104), like Knudson, feel that the “Plainview points” from both Lime Creek and Red Smoke are not classic Plainview points and the sites should therefore not be included in summaries of the Plainview complex. Clearly the data from the three Lime Creek sites are begging for study in the light of the more abundant information now available on Paleoindian complexes and the advances in analytical techniques that have taken place in recent decades. We can now discuss lithic reduction sequences and their implications, seasonality of occupation, food value of faunal remains, organization of hunting, and many other topics that give life to the past but were beyond our reach in the 1940s and 1950s. This volume presents the application of these modern approaches to the data from Medicine Creek.

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chapter 3

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology at S elected Paleoindian S ites around

Medicine Creek Reservoir David May

Geoarchaeological investigations in the Medicine Creek Basin around Medicine Creek reservoir have revealed Late Wisconsin and Early Holocene fluvial processes and their impact on creating Paleoindian occupation surfaces. I begin the discussion of each of the three Paleoindian sites that were discovered in 1947 (Allen, Lime Creek, and Red Smoke) and excavated during the 1947–1953 period with a summary of the original geoarchaeological investigation at the site. (For a general history of geoarchaeological investigations at the three classic Paleoindian sites around Medicine Creek, see May 2000, 2002.) The primary purposes of this chapter are to present new data and interpretations of the alluvial stratigraphy at the sites, to present the results of recent radiocarbon dating at the Paleoindian sites, and to compare the alluvial stratigraphy and ages of the sediments among the sites. The sites studied and discussed in this chapter include the three previously excavated Paleoindian sites at the reservoir, a cutbank along Medicine Creek immediately upstream of the reservoir, and an unstudied Paleoindian site (the Stafford site) in Lime Creek Valley upstream of the reservoir (Figure 3.1). Previous Pertinent Work In the late 1940s, C. Bertrand Schultz, geologist with the University of Nebraska State Museum, and his students conducted extensive pioneering work on river terraces and the stratigraphy of alluvial valley fills in the Medicine Creek Basin (Schultz et al. 1948). These geomorphic and stratigraphic investigations were performed primarily in conjunction with the

Figure 3.1 Map of sites around Medicine Creek reservoir referred to in the text (originally appeared in May 2002).

excavations of three Paleoindian sites (Allen [25FT50], Lime Creek [25FT41], and Red Smoke [25FT42]) that were to be inundated by Medicine Creek reservoir beginning in 1949. (Schultz’s contributions to archaeology at the reservoir can be found in May 2000, 2002, and in chapter 2.) Pertinent to my reinvestigation of the three Paleoindian sites at the reservoir, the Paleoindian components at these sites are in the lower part of

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valley fill 2a beneath the 17- to 20-m-high Terrace 2 in the Medicine Creek Basin (Davis 1953a, 1962; Davis and Schultz 1952; Elias 1949; Holder and Wike 1949; Schultz and Frankforter 1948). In the early 1960s, James Brice conducted a study of gully erosion and sedimentation in the Medicine Creek Basin. As part of that research, he reconstructed Late Wisconsin through Holocene landscape evolution in the basin. He (1966) recognized three terraces in the Medicine Creek Valley: from lowest (youngest) to highest (oldest), they are the Mousel, Stockville, and Wellfleet terraces. Brice indicates that the Stockville Terrace is equivalent to Schultz et al.’s (1948) Terrace 2 and that the “Stockville terrace deposits” are equivalent to fill 2a beneath Terrace 2. Methods of Investigation and Laboratory Analyses Mapping of Terraces An important initial part of this geomorphic and stratigraphic investigation of Paleoindian sites in the vicinity of Medicine Creek reservoir was mapping the spatial extent of Republican River Terrace 2 (Schultz et al. 1948) in Medicine Creek Valley around the reservoir. The dual purposes of this mapping were to reveal the degree of possible preservation of other Paleoindian sites within valley fill 2a and to facilitate archaeological surveys for Paleoindian sites. The extent of Terrace 2 was delineated on U.S. Geological Survey 7.5-minute series topographic maps (Medicine Creek Dam and Freedom quadrangles) during field reconnaissance and then reduced to produce Figure 3.2. Drilling at the Lime Creek and Red Smoke Sites Today the Allen site (25FT50) is completely submerged, but the Lime Creek (25FT41) site is dry at low levels of the reservoir, and the Red Smoke site (25FT42) is usually just above the elevation of the normal pool elevation of the reservoir. Thus, Paleoindian components at the Lime Creek site can be reached by drilling, and those at the Red Smoke site are generally accessible. A Bureau of Reclamation drill crew collected continuous drill cores from the lower part of fill 2a at the Lime Creek site. They drilled three holes north of

Figure 3.2 Map of spatial extent of Terrace 2 (shaded areas) in Medicine Creek Valley in the vicinity of Medicine Creek reservoir. Medicine Creek cutbank locality that exposes Terrace 2 fill is shown in upper left (eastern edge of Section 19) with a solid circle.

excavation area C (Davis 1962) and 30 m northwest of the northern wall of the bulldozer trench cut during the original excavation of the site (see Conyers 2000 for locations of drill holes). I sent one core to Linda Scott Cummings for pollen analyses (see chapter 6). Another was sent to Larry Conyers (2000) for use in his study of paleotopography at the site. I described and sampled the lower portion of the third core for a variety of laboratory analyses. At the Red Smoke site two complete cores were collected from approximately 30 m west of the west edge of the bulldozer trench that was cut during the original excavation of the site in the early 1950s. Neither core included sediments from the deepest (Paleoindian) components at this site. One core was sent to Cummings for pollen analyses. The second core was sent to Conyers for description.

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

Sediment and Soil Description, Sampling, and Analyses At all five sites studied as part of my geoarchaeological investigation of fill 2a, I described the physical characteristics of the alluvium and soils (Birkeland 1999; Soil Survey Staff 1994). The sediments that I described came from around a hearth at the Allen site that was cast in plaster in 1948, a drill core recovered from the Lime Creek site, in situ alluvium exposed in eroded excavation walls at the Red Smoke site, in situ alluvium exposed in the lower 14 m of a 20-m-high cutbank along Medicine Creek (Figure 3.2), and in situ alluvium exposed in a 6.5-m-high cutbank at the Stafford site. For the Allen site, the only intact sediment available for analysis was sediment from around a hearth (Feature 27) that was cast in plaster in August 1948. The hearth had been stored in the University of Nebraska State Museum since it was cast. Douglas Bamforth opened the plaster cast and sent me seven blocks of sediments from the hearth. I used the two largest blocks of sediment for laboratory analyses of particle size and chemical characteristics. I carefully cut 1-cm-thick slices from the top downward through each piece for the analyses. For the Lime Creek site, I described and sampled the lowest 3.7 m (14.3- to 18.0-m depth interval) of Core 3 because this interval included the deepest cultural horizon (I) at the site. The coring had been done in 1.52-m (60-in) increments, but compression sometimes resulted in the recovery of shorter lengths of core. Adjusted sample intervals of 10 cm were determined and then marked off on the core. The actual length of each sampled segment of core varied from 5.8 cm (maximum compression) to 10 cm (no compression). Each of the 37 sediment samples removed from the core was treated in the following manner. First, the sample was dispersed in distilled water. Second, light organics, such as charcoal and seeds, were floated, removed, and saved. Third, the sample was wet sieved through a 2-mm sieve to remove gravel and other coarse material (wood, gastropods). Fourth, both the coarse and fine fractions were oven dried at 105°C, and then each was weighed. Fifth, the fine fraction was ground and split into two equal subsamples, each weighing 40 to 60 g.

19

One set of subsamples was used for particle size analysis; the other was used for chemical analyses. I did not collect sediment from the Red Smoke cores for laboratory analysis, because the cores did not reach the depths of the deepest Paleoindian components. I also did not collect sediments for laboratory analysis from the cutbank at the Stafford site or from the cutbank along Medicine Creek above the reservoir, but these sites can easily be revisited and sampled in the future. Particle size analyses of all sediment samples were run at the University of Northern Iowa using standard pipette methods (Day 1965). Chemical analyses (organic matter, carbonates, pH) were run at the University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee Soils Laboratory following standard procedures (Walkley-Black method for organic matter; Chittick analysis for carbonates; pH meter) as outlined by Liegel et al. (1980). Collection and Treatment of Samples for Radiocarbon Assays Organic samples for radiocarbon assays were collected by several means. Bamforth submitted charcoal samples that had been stored in the University of Nebraska State Museum since the excavations of the Allen site in 1948 from both occupation levels. I sampled and submitted sediment from around a hearth (Feature 27) that came from the upper part of the Intermediate Zone between the occupation levels at the Allen site. I sampled Core 3 from the Lime Creek site in 10-cm or 20-cm intervals for radiocarbon assays. Mott Davis, the archaeologist responsible for the original excavations of the Red Smoke site (see chapter 2), picked charcoal from sediment that had been collected during the excavations in the early 1950s. I collected bulk sediment samples at the site in 5- to 10-cm intervals from a soil pit and from cleaned exposures along the eroded face of the east end of the original Red Smoke excavations. I sampled the Medicine Creek and Stafford site cutbanks in 5-cm or 10-cm depth intervals, usually from the lower or upper portions of organic-enriched strata. I pretreated all the bulk sediment and soil samples that I collected in the Physical Geography Laboratory

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at the University of Northern Iowa. I used the following pretreatment procedure, which is very similar to one published by Kihl (1975). First, the sample was wet sieved through a 0.125-mm sieve to remove the light organic fraction (rootlets, seeds) and mineral fraction larger than very fine sand. Second, carbonates in the fine fraction were digested with 1 N hydrochloric acid. Third, the sample was rinsed repeatedly with distilled water until dispersed. Fourth, the sample was wet sieved through a 0.053-mm sieve to remove very fine sand. Fifth, the silt and clay fractions were allowed to settle from suspension. Sixth, extra water was decanted, and the silt and clay were placed in an oven to dry at 105°C. Seventh, the dried sample was ground with mortar and pestle, weighed, wrapped in foil, and placed in a labeled plastic bag. I sent the dried, ground radiocarbon samples to the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab for radiocarbon assays and to Beta Analytic, Inc., after the University of Texas lab closed. All conventional radiocarbon ages were calibrated using the online version (4.4.2) of the CALIB program (Stuiver and Braziunas 1993; Stuiver et al. 1998a; Stuiver et al. 1998b). Allen Site (25FT50) Holder and Wike (1949) published the only archaeological report on the now-inundated Allen site prior to the present volume. However, two M.S. theses that were completed by graduate students in the Department of Geology at the University of Nebraska in 1949 provide considerable data about the entire fill 2a stratigraphy very near the Allen site. Thus, the data in these theses are cited extensively in this section. Since the Allen site was sufficiently controversial in the late 1940s, C. Bertrand Schultz was successful in getting Willard Libby at the University of Chicago to accept and assay three charcoal samples from the site using the thennew technique of radiocarbon dating that Libby (1955) had pioneered. Bamforth has been very successful at recovering charcoal samples from sediments that have been stored since 1948, and I report these recently determined ages for the occupation levels in this chapter (see also Bamforth 2002b).

Stratigraphy The stratigraphy at the Allen site is known from Holder and Wike’s (1949) publication, Preston Holder’s 1948 field notes, Gregory Elias’s (1949) M.S. thesis, and Howard Stacy’s (1949) M.S. thesis. Holder and Wike (1949) reported that Schultz et al. (1948) placed the site in the lower part of Terrace 2 fill (fill 2a). Holder and Wike described the alluvial fill at the site as being approximately 9.1 m (30 ft) thick. They also described two occupation levels in a band about 76 cm to 91 cm (2.5–3.0 ft) thick that began about 2.7 m (9 ft) above the base of the fill. The lower of these (Occupation Level [OL] 1) was about 15–24 cm (0.5–0.8 ft) thick, and the upper (OL 2) was about 12–18 cm (0.4–0.6 ft) thick. They reported that the occupation levels were separated by an “Intermediate Zone” about 45 cm (1.5 ft) thick that was lighter and that contained much less cultural material. Holder’s field notes provide a more detailed description of the stratigraphy. In his description of “profile A,” which is the west wall of a trench cut through the site (designated exploratory trench #1), he states: Profile shows two clear occupation zones, each of which has a zone of charred-stained dirt in association. The first zone is immediately under the buff to grey terrace loess and cannot be distinguished from the loess easily by texture, color, etc. However it is clearly and sharply marked by the sudden appearance of cultural debris on a horizontal plane about 0.20' to 0.30' thick. This we are calling Occupation Zone A, abbreviated O.Z.A. Immediately below this and distinguishable from it in color (dark grey, shot through with charcoal) but virtually identical in texture is a 0.50' to 0.60' thick stratum of culture-bearing loess. Calling this Stain Zone A abbreviated S.Z.A. Below this is a layer, 0.50' to 0.70' thick, of undifferentiated loess. Calling this Intermediate Zone A-B, abbreviated I.Z.A-B. Below this concentrations of cultural and faunal material appear in a layer of clear loess +0.50' thick—this is Occupation

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

Zone B, O.Z.B., and lies directly on a layer of charcoal-stained soil +0.50' thick with cultural and faunal material scattered through it. This is Stain Zone B, abbreviated as S.Z.B. Below this no cultural nor faunal material appears in the unstained loess for at least 3.00'. . . . Although cultural and faunal material appear in O.Z.A&B, fired areas occur only in S.Z.A&B. [field notes, 1948] Holder’s description suggests that the occupation levels are on the surfaces of two weakly developed, buried soils. Holder used the phrase “charcoalstained soil” to refer to Stain Zone B (later subsumed into OL 1). He shied away, however, from using the term soil (it is crossed out in his field notes) to refer to Stain Zone A (included within OL 2 in publication), although he described it as “dark grey, shot through with charcoal.” Elias’s (1949) stratigraphic section of Republican River Terrace 2 fill (2a) was very near the Allen site. His description was the most complete and detailed description of this fill in the Medicine Creek Basin at the time. Elias’s section totaled 18 m (60 ft) from the creek to the surface of fill 2a (Republican River Terrace 2). He noted that 6 m (20 ft) of Niobrara chalk is exposed immediately above Medicine Creek and that the bedrock is overlain by almost 12.1 m (40 ft) of sediments. He subdivided the 12 m (40 ft) of sediments into 21 strata (levels) that he numbered from top to bottom (Table 3.1). Below I review his description and particle size data for the basal strata that include OL 1, the Intermediate Zone (IZ), and OL 2 at the Red Smoke site. Elias’s (1949) Levels 21 to 15 are strata below OL 1 at the Allen site. These strata, except the basal Level 21, are dominated by silt. Level 21 contains gravel, unlike overlying levels. Levels 19 and 18 are bluish green silt. Levels 17–15 are yellow-gray to light gray silt. Elias analyzed multiple samples of sediment from Levels 17–15, so it is possible to see vertical trends in the particle size distributions. In all three of these levels the greatest amounts of clay are at the surface of the strata, indicating a slight fining-upward sequence within each of

21

these levels. I interpret each of these fining-upward sequences as being a product of individual floods. Level 14 is Elias’s “Buried Soil 3” that is equivalent to OL 1 at the Allen site according to Stacy (1949). Given how thin Buried Soil 3 is on Elias’s stratigraphic section, he apparently did not consider OL 2 as being on and within a buried soil. I interpret Level 14 as the first alluvial stratum within the base of fill 2a that was stable long enough for some soil development to occur. Level 14 contains a large amount of clay relative to the three strata below (17–15) and several of the overlying strata (Table 3.1). Level 14 is the cap of the fining-upward sequence that includes Level 15. Medicine Creek may have slightly incised its channel, thus halting aggradation of the valley floor. Stacy (1949:34–35) reported “thousands” fewer gastropods in Level 14 as compared with Level 15 below. He attributed the low number of gastropods in Level 14, the “supposed ‘A’ horizon of the soil profile,” to soil-forming processes, particularly leaching. Unfortunately, Stacy made no statement about relative abundances of gastropods in Level 13 and above. Vegetation must have grown on the surface and decomposed over a sufficiently long period to enrich the alluvium with organic matter and to darken Level 14 (Birkeland 1999). Single well-dated alluvial stratigraphic sections from the central Great Plains that contain buried soils provide some information on the length of time required for an A horizon to form in alluvium. Mandel’s (1994) study of the Hackberry soil in the Pawnee River Basin indicates that a thick, cumulic A horizon can develop in 200–300 years. Arbogast and Johnson (1994) have shown that buried A horizons in Late Holocene alluvium can form in less than 300 years. Martin’s (1990) radiocarbon ages for buried soils in Republican River Terrace 1 fill indicate that thick, cumulic A horizons can form in alluvium in 400–700 years. The duration of floodplain stability and A horizon development in Level 14 (OL 1 at the Allen site) was probably on the order of 300–700 years. Elias’s Level 13, the thickest (1.8 m [6 ft]) stratum in the section, is brownish gray silt. From a geoarchaeological perspective, this is an important stratum, because it includes both the 45-cm-thick (1.5-ft)

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Table 3.1: Elias’s (1949) Description of Terrace-2 Alluvium near the Allen Site Including Particle Size Data for Samples of the Alluvium Depth (m) Level Number Field Description

Sand (%) Silt (%) Clay (%)

0–0.15 1 Soil—surface 19.4 0.15–0.45 2 Silt—light buff 18.8 0.45–0.84 3 Silt—dark buff 17.2 0.84–1.23 4 Buried soil 1 15.6 1.23–1.44 5 Loess silt—dark buff; calcareous concretions 28.3 1.44–1.72 6 Loess silt—light buff; calcareous concretions 23.2 1.72–2.00 6 Loess silt—light buff; calcareous concretions 26.4 2.00–2.28 6 Loess silt—light buff; calcareous concretions 23.8 2.28–2.78 7 Loess silt—reddish buff; calcareous concretions 20.8 2.78–3.07 8 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 25.8 3.07–3.36 8 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 22.6 3.36–3.65 8 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 27.6 3.65–3.94 8 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 19.7 3.94–4.14 9 Buried soil 2; calcareous concretions 23.4 4.14–4.44 10 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 29.0 4.44–4.74 10 Loess silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 28.0 4.74–5.02 11 Loess silt—light buff interbedded with orange buff; 30.0 calcareous concretions 5.02–5.30 11 Loess silt—light buff interbedded with orange buff; 29.4 calcareous concretions 5.30–5.58 11 Loess silt—light buff interbedded with orange buff; 27.0 calcareous concretions 5.58–5.90 12 Loess silt—orange buff; calcareous concretions 23.2 5.90–6.21 12 Loess silt—orange bluff; calcareous concretions 19.3 6.21–6.51 13 Loess silt—brownish gray; calcareous concretions 25.3 6.51–6.81 13 Loess silt—brownish gray; calcareous concretions 21.6 6.81–7.11 13 Loess silt—brownish gray; calcareous concretions 22.4 7.11–7.41 13 Loess silt—brownish gray; calcareous concretions 19.3 7.41–7.71 13 Loess silt—brownish gray; calcareous concretions 22.2 7.71–8.01 13 Loess silt—brownish gray 21.6 8.01–8.14 14 Buried soil 3; calcareous concretions 20.8 8.14–8.49 15 Silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 24.8 8.49–8.84 15 Silt—light gray; calcareous concretions 26.0 8.84–9.14 16 Silt—yellow gray; calcareous concretions 24.4 9.14–9.44 16 Silt—yellow gray; calcareous concretions 28.2 9.44–9.74 16 Silt—yellow gray 26.0 9.74–10.04 16 Silt—yellow gray 23.8 10.04–10.32 17 Silt—yellow gray 21.8 10.32–10.60 17 Silt—yellow gray 22.6 10.60–10.88 17 Silt—yellow gray 24.4 10.88–11.19 18 Silt—bluish green 16.4 11.19–11.37 19 Silt—bluish green 18.2 11.37–11.70 20 Silt and sand; interbedded 34.0 11.70–11.88 21 Sand; interbedded 11.88 Niobrara chalk Note: Elias’s original measurements of depths in feet have been converted to depths in meters for comparison with other described profiles in this chapter.

62.0 60.6 64.8 49.4 61.3 59.6 56.2 60.2 58.4 58.8 63.4 59.6 66.3 61.2 56.6 58.0 60.0

18.6 20.6 18.0 35.0 10.4 17.2 17.4 16.0 20.8 15.4 14.0 12.8 14.0 15.4 14.4 14.0 10.0

61.6

9.0

62.0

14.0

69.8 69.7 60.3 62.4 61.2 64.7 62.6 62.0 59.4 59.8 60.0 58.2 59.3 60.0 60.8 61.0 61.2 59.4 65.0 61.2 48.4

7.0 11.0 14.4 16.0 16.4 16.0 15.2 16.4 19.8 15.4 14.0 17.4 12.4 14.0 15.4 17.2 16.2 16.2 18.6 20.6 17.6

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Table 3.2: Particle Size and Selected Chemical Data for Sediment Samples from Near a Hearth (Feature 27) in the Upper Part of the Intermediate Zone at the Allen Site Depth (cm)



0–1 1–2 2–3 3–4 4–5 5–6 6–7 7–8 8–9

Sand (%)

Silt (%)

Clay (%)

Organic Matter (%)

23 22 23 23 20 25 19 21 NA

63 60 62 63 63 59 67 65 NA

14 18 15 14 17 16 14 14 NA

0.6 0.4 0.4 0.3 0.3 0.6 0.6 0.6 0.9

Intermediate Zone of lighter color and the 12- to 18-cm-thick (0.4–0.6-ft) Occupation Level 2. Elias did not indicate the presence of a buried soil at the depth of OL 2 in his profile. Apparently he did not observe a darkened stratum associated with OL 2 in his stratigraphic section. His omission of a buried soil at the depth of OL 2 also may have been a scale issue. His purpose was to describe nearly 12 m (40 ft) of sediment that included other buried soils; it was not to provide a detailed description of the sediments associated with the cultural deposits. As part of our reinvestigation of the sediments at the Allen site, Douglas Bamforth and I wanted to know the degree to which a soil had formed in the lower part of OL 2 and the upper part of the IZ. I sampled sediments from a hearth (Feature 27) that was in the upper part of the IZ, 8.8 cm (0.29 ft) below OL 2 where the IZ is 61 cm (2.0 ft) thick. The results of the laboratory analyses on this 9-cm-thick increment of sediment are listed in Table 3.2. These results are very similar to Elias’s (1949) particle size distribution for a thicker interval of the lowest increment of Level 13 (Table 3.1). The particle size data for the hearth do not indicate that clay translocation occurred through the sampled interval. With such a fine resolution of vertical sampling (1 cm), a consistent downward trend in clay content should be evident if clay translocation had occurred. None is demonstrated, so there is no Bt soil horizon present. The percentage of organic matter in the hearth samples first decreases with depth and

Calcite (%)

9.7 7.8 7.6 9.1 8.5 9.7 6.5 7.6 3.1

pH

7.9 8.1 8.2 8.0 8.0 8.0 8.0 8.0 8.0

then increases with depth. Such a pattern is indicative of cumulic soil formation on an evolving floodplain (Birkeland 1999; Daniels 2003; May 2003; Soil Survey Staff 1975). The percentage of calcite is much lower in the deepest sample. This basal sample also contains the highest amount of organic matter, so the low amount of calcite might be mirroring some leaching that occurred when this 8- to 9-cm increment of sediment was at the surface of the Medicine Creek floodplain. The pH is very consistent with depth and reflects the background pH of Peoria Loess, the source of nearly all the sediment in fill 2a. In summary, although the particle size data do not indicate clay translocation and formation of a Bt horizon, the percentages of organic matter do reveal the formation of a cumulic A horizon. Perhaps Elias (1949) was not willing to call this interval a soil, and Holder (field notes, 1948) also may have been tentative about formally recognizing a soil associated with OL 2, because the dark organic matter was so diffuse. Radiocarbon Dating Three radiocarbon ages were determined on charcoal from the Allen site in the early 1950s by Willard Libby (1955) at the University of Chicago during his pioneering efforts at radiocarbon dating. Most would now view these ages as only approximate, and some would dismiss them outright, because of the solid-carbon method employed for beta counting (see May 2002: 44–46). I list these ages in Table 3.3 to be inclusive.

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Table 3.3: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Allen Site Sample Lab Material Uncorrected Conventional Provenience Number Dated Age (yr B.P.) Delta 13C Age (yr B.P.)

Range of Cal Ages (yr B.P. at one sigma)

Mean Cal. Age (yr B.P.)

Occupation Level (OL) 2 (Feature 8)

Tx-6595

charcoal

8690±460

–25.5

8680±460

9034–10,359

9700

OL 2

Tx-8463

charcoal

8660±90

–24.6

8670±90

9537–9885

9710

OL 2

Tx-8464

charcoal

8430±80

–24.9

8430±80

9326–9529

9430

Slightly below OL 2 (Feature 27)

Tx-8223a

humates

9460±80

–24.5

9470±80

10,578–11,060

10,820

Tx-8223b

humins

9820±190

–23.9

9840±190

10,791–11,686

11,240

OL 1 (Feature 10)

Tx-6596

charcoal

10,280±360

–25.2

10,270±360

11,343–12,625

11,980

OL 1 (Feature 21)

Tx-6594

charcoal

10,610±620

–25.5

10,600±620

11,361–13,147

12,250

OL 1 (“Soil B”) OL 1 (Feature 18) Mixture of “soil bands A and B” (OL 1 and OL 2)

C-108a C-470

charcoal charcoal

8274±500 10,493±1500

–25* –25*

8274±500 10,493±1500

8542–9885 10,159–14,079

9210 12,120

C-65

charcoal

5256±350

–25*

5256±350

5614–6400

6,010

* Estimated

Bamforth has had five samples of stored charcoal from the Allen site assayed since he began his reinvestigation of the site. Three of his charcoal samples are from OL 2, and two are from OL 1. The two ages from OL 1 are 10,600±620 and 10,270±360 yr B.P. These ages indicate that OL 1 at the Allen site and Elias’s (1949) Buried Soil 3 probably date to about 10,450 yr B.P. or, considering the standard deviations, between about 11,000 and 10,000 yr B.P. The three ages for OL 2 (8680±460, 8670±90, and 8430±80 yr B.P.) constrain the age of that level and the basal portion of Elias’s Level 13 to between about 9000 and 8400 yr B.P. Bamforth (2002b:59) indicates that the youngest age for OL 2 is on charcoal recovered from a rodent burrow. Thus, the 8430 yr B.P. age (Tx-8464) may be slightly young, and 8700 yr B.P. is a reasonable age estimate for OL 2 (Figure 3.3). In his intensive study of the provenience of hearths and lithic artifacts at the Allen site, Bamforth (2002b) has concluded that hearths and artifacts are found not only in Occupation Levels 1 and 2 but throughout the

Intermediate Zone as well. I submitted a sample of sediments from near a hearth (Feature 27) that was in the upper portion of the IZ 8.8 cm (0.29 ft) below OL 2 where the IZ is 61 cm (2.0 ft) thick. Sufficient sediment was available for assays of both total humates and the humin fraction of organics. The assay of total humates yielded an age of 9470±80 yr B.P. (Tx-8223a), and the assay of humins produced an age of 9840±190 yr B.P. (Tx-8223b). These ages are a little older than expected, but that expectation was based on a constant sedimentation rate at the site. If the mean age of total humates from around the hearth is used and compared with the mean age of the charcoal samples that are clearly from Occupation Level 2 (8680 and 8670 yr B.P.), then OL 2 and the weakly expressed buried A horizon that is part of it would have formed in 800 radiocarbon years. This duration of soil formation is plausible from a soilgenesis perspective given the climate, local soil/sediment drainage characteristics, and the thickness of the OL 2 sediments and A horizon.

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

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associated with Cultural Zone I. Conyers (2000) was able to demonstrate the paleotopography at the site and explain why the cultural material was much more common in Excavation Areas A and B than in Excavation Area C. I have previously outlined my geoarchaeological reinvestigation at the Lime Creek site (May 2002). In the remainder of this section I provide details regarding the alluvial stratigraphy at the site, including the results of laboratory analyses and radiocarbon assays of organic samples from drill core 3. The detailed stratigraphy and new ages provide chronological control for the depositional history at the site as well as for Cultural Zones I and II identified by Davis (1962). Figure 3.3 Three stratigraphic sections at the Allen site (25FT50) with the provenience and conventional radiocarbon ages of three charcoal samples shown. Data for this illustration provided by Douglas Bamforth.

Lime Creek Site (25FT41) The Lime Creek site has received considerable attention from geologists and geoarchaeologists since its discovery by W. D. Frankforter (2002) three days after a severe flood in June 1947. In their preliminary report on the Paleoindian sites along Medicine and Lime creeks, Schultz and Frankforter (1948:46) noted that an important zone of cultural materials was present at the Lime Creek site 14.4 m (47.5 ft) below Terrace 2. Of the three Paleoindian sites being investigated in the area to be inundated by Medicine Creek reservoir in the late 1940s, the thickest, most complete, and bestexposed section was at the Lime Creek site. Schultz and Frankforter (1948) described their first stratigraphic profile of fill 2a at this site. Davis and Schultz (1952) and Davis (1953a) also reported the stratigraphy and the first radiocarbon age from the site. Davis (1962) published a detailed report on the Lime Creek site that included profiles of the deposits within the lower part of Terrace 2a fill, as well as a general stratigraphic profile of the Lime Creek site. As part of our reinvestigation of the Lime Creek site, Douglas Bamforth had a graduate student, Larry Conyers, work on mapping the living surface

Stratigraphy After the flood in June 1947, a nearly vertical bluff 15.6 m (51.5 ft) high was exposed at the Lime Creek site (Schultz and Frankforter 1948). In their assessment of the relationship of the buried cultural components to Terrace 2 at the Allen, Lime Creek, and Red Smoke sites, Schultz and Frankforter stated that the Lime Creek site was “the best location for determining the relationship of the occupational zone to the terrace” (1948:48). Schultz et al. further elaborated on the stratigraphic importance of the Lime Creek site when they observed that “sites Ft-42 [Red Smoke] and Ft-50 [Allen] indicate by their physiographic characteristics that they are also a part of RT-2 [Republican River Terrace 2], however, these exposures are less complete and their stratigraphic relationships are therefore not as clearly shown as at Ft-41 [Lime Creek]” (1948:38). Schultz considered the Lime Creek exposure so important that the stratigraphic section at the site was made the type locality for Terrace 2a fill in the central Great Plains (Schultz et al. 1951). Schultz and Frankforter (1948:37) first recognized nine sedimentary units (numbered from the surface down) in the bluff face at the Lime Creek site. The artifact-bearing zones were all included within one 7.6-m-thick (25.0 ft) tan-buff silt unit (5) from 7.5 to 14.4 m (22.5 to 47.5 ft) below the surface of the terrace. Beneath it, they recognized a 1.2-m-thick (4.0 ft) dark gray, carbonaceous clay unit (6), the base of which

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Chapter 3

Figure 3.4 Lime Creek site (25FT41) stratigraphic section (not to scale). Height of section above creek in 1947 was 15.6 m (51.5 ft). From Davis 1962:27 (courtesy of the Bureau of Reclamation).

was the normal water level of Lime Creek. They noted in the text that part of Unit 6 is a humic soil and that the cultural material (Davis’s [1962] Cultural Zone I) lies on it. Schultz revised the stratigraphic description of the Lime Creek cutbank before Davis (1962) published his final report on the site. Schultz probably was able to see more subtle details of the stratigraphy once he had access to cleaned exposures in the bulldozer trench and in the excavation units. In particular, the 7.6-m-thick (25.0-ft) tan-buff silt (Unit 5) in Schultz and Frankforter’s (1948) original description was ultimately subdivided into eight units (5–12) (Figure 3.4). Davis collectively referred to the new Units 5 through 12 as stratified silts “with many horizontal carbonaceous layers which are, in reality, imperfect minute soils”; furthermore, he stated, “Cultural Zones I, II, and III correspond respectively to Sedimentary Units 12, 10, and 8, which are

immature soils” (1962:28–29). The 1.2-m-thick (4.0 ft), dark gray, carbonaceous clay unit immediately above stream level (Unit 6 in Schultz and Frankforter’s original description) became Unit 13 in the final stratigraphic description (Figure 3.4). My reinvestigation of the stratigraphy at the Lime Creek site involved description, analyses, and submission of samples for radiocarbon assays from drill core 3. I subdivided the lower 3.7 m of Core 3 from the Lime Creek site into sedimentary units using my descriptions of the core (Table 3.4) and the results of laboratory analyses of the 37 10-cm-thick samples (Table 3.5; Figure 3.5). I have used Schultz’s stratigraphic nomenclature (Figure 3.4), but I sometimes split some of his units into upper (a) and lower (b) portions based on my high-resolution (10-cm) descriptions and samples of the core. Some differences between my description and Schultz’s, however, are to be expected because Core 3 came from north and northwest of the excavations at the site. Conyers (2000) has shown that the sediments below and inclusive of Cultural Zone I vary over short distances because of the position of the Medicine Creek channel when the cultural materials in Zone I were deposited. The description here varies slightly from one that I have previously published (May 2002:Figure 5.8), because Conyers (2000) has demonstrated that we did not reach bedrock in our three cores. Below I discuss the depth interval 14.3–16.0 m in Core 3 because it includes Cultural Horizons I and II. Unit 13 in Schultz’s revised description (Figure 3.4), which extends from 16.0 to 15.1 m deep in Core 3, is a very dark brown and very dark grayish brown loam. I subdivide this unit into lower (13b) and upper (13a) portions based primarily on organic matter content. In the lower part of the unit (13b; 16.0–15.3 m) organic matter ranges from 0.8 to 1.2 percent. In the upper part of the unit (13a; 15.3–15.1 m) organic matter is 0.5 percent or less. Furthermore, gastropods, flecks of charcoal, and a few carbonate concretions are common throughout Unit 13b, but none of these is present in Unit 13a. Schultz et al. described Unit 6 (the equivalent of Unit 13 in Davis 1962) as “clay, carbonaceous, plastic, dark gray, with silty lenses” (1948:37). Davis referred to Unit 13 as a “four-foot stratum of

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

Table 3.4: Description of Sediments in the Lower 3.7 m of Core 3 (Depth Interval 14.3–18.0 m) Retrieved at the Lime Creek Site Sedimentary Unit

Depth (m)

11a 14.3–14.4 11b 14.4–14.5 11b 14.5–14.6 11b 14.6–14.7 11b 14.7–14.8 11b 14.8–14.9 12 14.9–15.0 14.9–15.0 12 15.0–15.1 13a 15.1–15.2 13a 15.2–15.3 13b 15.3–15.4 13b 15.4–15.5 13b 15.5–15.6 13b 15.6–15.7 13b 15.7–15.8 13b 15.8–15.9 13b 15.9–16.0 14 16.0–16.1 14 16.1–16.2 14 16.2–16.3 14 16.3–16.4 14 16.4–16.5 14 16.5–16.6 14 16.6–16.7 15 16.7–16.8 15 16.8–16.9 15 16.9–17.0 15 17.0–17.1 15 17.1–17.2 16 17.2–17.3 16 17.3–17.4 16 17.4–17.5 16 17.5–17.6 16 17.6–17.7 16 17.7–17.8 16 17.8–17.9 16 17.9–18.0

Description

Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) sandy loam. Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt loam; few, fine, vertical carbonate concretions); 14 C sample 14.4–14.6 m: conventional age of humates 7980±1000 yr B.P. (Tx-6779). Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; few, fine and medium carbonate concretions; common, fine, distinct dark yellowish brown (10YR4/4) mottles around tubules. Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt loam; few, fine and medium carbonate concretions. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam. Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt loam. Dark brown (10YR3/3) silt loam; four pieces of charcoal, largest 2 × 5 mm; 14C sample m: conventional age of humates 9120±510 yr B.P. (Tx-6778). Very dark brown (10YR2/2) silt loam. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam; one, fine, carbonate concretion; few flecks of charcoal, largest was piece of flat charcoal 5 × 8 mm; also band of charcoal 1 mm thick entire width of core. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam; several gastropods; 14C sample 15.3–15.5 m: conventional age of humates 10,040±270 yr B.P. (Tx-6777). Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam; few, fine carbonate concretions; one gastropod. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam; several gastropods; one small piece of charcoal. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam; several gastropods. Very dark gray (10YR3/1) loam. Black (10YR2/1) loam. Black (10YR2/1) loam; few, fine carbonate concretions. Black (10YR2/1) loam. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam; 14C sample 16.5–16.6 m: conventional age of humates 10,090±450 yr B.P. (Tx-6776). Black (10YR2/1) loam. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) loam. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) loam; few pieces of wood; 14C sample 17.1–17.2 m: conventional age of humates 13,720±530 yr B.P. (Tx-6775). Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several pieces of wood; four gastropods. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several pieces of wood 5–10 mm long. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several pieces of wood, largest 3 cm long, most 5–10 mm; two gastropods. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several pieces of wood and bark >5 mm long; two gastropods. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several small pieces of wood 0.5–1 cm long. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several small pieces of wood 0.5–1 cm long. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; several small pieces of wood 0.5–1 cm long. Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2) silt loam; small pieces of wood <5 mm long; 14C sample 17.9–18.0 m: conventional age of humates 27,970±1190 yr B.P. (Tx-6774).

Note: Sediments were retrieved in October 1989 from 30 m west of the west wall of the bulldozer trench and 14 m north of Excavation Area C (see Conyers 2000:fig. 2). Sediments were described by David May, January 8, 1990. All depths are below the surface (Terrace 2).

27

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Table 3.5: Physical and Chemical Characteristics of Sediments in the Lower 3.7 m of Core 3 (Depth Interval 14.3–18.0 m) Retrieved at the Lime Creek Site Depth (m)



14.3–14.4 14.4–14.5 14.5–14.6 14.6–14.7 14.7–14.8 14.8–14.9 14.9–15.0 15.0–15.1 15.1–15.2 15.2–15.3 15.3–15.4 15.4–15.5 15.5–15.6 15.6–15.7 15.7–15.8 15.8–15.9 15.9–16.0 16.0–16.1 16.1–16.2 16.2–16.3 16.3–16.4 16.4–16.5 16.5–16.6 16.6–16.7 16.7–16.8 16.8–16.9 16.9–17.0 17.0–17.1 17.1–17.2 17.2–17.3 17.3–17.4 17.4–17.5 17.5–17.6 17.6–17.7 17.7–17.8 17.8–17.9 17.9–18.0

>2 mm (%)

Sand (%)

Silt (%)

Clay (%)

Organic Matter (%)

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 18 24 16 20 29 59 12 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 38

63 31 30 26 24 23 28 28 38 40 44 43 47 48 45 43 40 43 43 40 45 48 51 64 56 55 49 34 27 28 27 24 26 25 27 29 34

38 57 56 61 64 67 59 60 49 49 42 42 41 39 41 42 47 44 44 45 41 40 34 23 34 33 39 47 62 58 60 62 61 61 57 56 49

9 12 14 13 12 10 13 12 13 11 14 15 12 13 14 15 13 13 13 15 14 12 15 13 10 12 12 19 11 14 13 14 13 14 16 15 17

0.4 0.2 0.3 0.2 0.3 0.2 0.9 0.6 0.2 0.5 1.1 0.9 1.0 0.8 1.0 1.2 0.9 0.2 0.3 0.1 0.4 0.3 0.4 0.1 02. 0.7 0.7 0.2 0.4 1.3 1.3 1.7 2.0 2.6 2.9 2.2 1.5

Calcium Carbonate (%) pH

3.5 5.1 5.0 4.1 4.0 3.8 3.0 2.0 2.4 3.1 2.9 3.0 3.5 3.0 0.8 3.5 4.0 3.5 2.4 2.0 4.5 2.5 0.8 8.2 5.0 6.7 7.0 5.0 7.0 3.0 3.0 2.5 4.0 5.0 5.0 4.5 9.5

7.9 8.0 7.9 7.9 7.7 7.5 7.6 7.5 7.4 8.0 7.7 7.6 7.9 7.2 7.6 7.5 7.3 7.8 7.2 7.8 7.6 7.7 7.5 7.4 7.4 7.3 7.5 7.4 7.4 7.0 7.2 6.9 7.1 6.8 7.0 7.0 7.3

Note: Sediments were retrieved in October 1989. All depths are below the surface (Terrace 2).

carbonaceous bluish clay with occasional silty lenses” (1962:28). This is the stratum upon which the artifacts of Cultural Zone I were lying when they were discovered protruding from the stream bank (Frankforter 2002). Because of the thickness of Unit 6 described by Schultz et al. (1948; Unit 13 in Davis 1962), it is quite possible that the artifacts of Cultural Zone I were on

the surface of the darker, thicker, lower part of Unit 13 (13b) at a depth of about 15.3 m in Core 3. Unit 12, as I recognize it, is thin (20 cm thick) in Core 3. It is present from 15.1 to 14.9 m deep. It is a very dark brown and dark brown silt loam with 0.6–0.9 percent organic matter. The upper 10 cm of this unit contains abundant charcoal. I correlate this

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

29

Figure 3.5 Results of laboratory analyses of samples from the lower 3.7 m of Lime Creek Core 3. Data are listed in Table 3.5, and descriptions of the sediments are listed in Table 3.4. Sedimentary units are shown at far left.

unit with the upper part of Cultural Zone I based on the presence of abundant charcoal in the upper 10 cm of this unit, its high organic matter content, and its stratigraphic position. Conyers (2000:Figure 3) has assigned an approximately 80-cm-thick interval of “organic-rich silt with load structures” in Core 1 from the Lime Creek site to Cultural Zone I. In Core 3 the two intervals that are likely Cultural Zone I are the increments 15.4–15.3 m (top of Unit 13b) and 15.1–14.9 m (Unit 12). Thus, Cultural Zone I in Core 3 is up to 50 cm thick. It is very possible given the paleotopography that Conyers (2000) demonstrates for the occupation surface for Cultural Zone I, and the distance (about 30 m) of the cores we described from the excavated areas, that Cultural Zone I in Cores 1 and 3 consists of two discrete occupation surfaces that are vertically about 20–30 cm apart. Presumably, these merge to the south and southeast into the single occupation surface recognized in Davis’s excavation areas (for a detailed cross section that shows most alluvial strata dipping and thickening to the southeast, see Davis 1962:Figure 32). If this interpretation of the two charcoal bands in Core 3 as both being part of Cultural Zone I is correct,

then the upper part of Unit 13b and Unit 12 comprise Cultural Zone I. Another plausible explanation is that the charcoal band in Core 3 between the depths of 15.4 and 15.3 m (see Table 3.4) is part of a “carbon streak” or part of one of the pieces of “charred wood” that Davis (1962:Figure 32) illustrates below Cultural Zone I. Thus, the charcoal in the 15.4- to 15.3-m-deep sample from Core 3 could be natural and excluded from Cultural Zone I. I will use the double-strata interpretation of Cultural Zone I in Core 3 (upper part of Unit 13b and Unit 12), as the Cultural Zone I surface was the rapidly aggrading bank of a former channel of Medicine Creek (Conyers 2000). Although Unit 11 was not fully described and sampled (only 14.9–14.3 m was sampled), it is possible to subdivide it. The abrupt changes in color and the percentages of sand and silt at 14.4 m warrant the subdivision. Unit 11a contains much more sand and much less silt than Unit 11b below. In Davis’s (1962:Figure 32) profile A in Excavation Area B, he shows sand at just the stratigraphic position that I am calling Unit 11a. From his cross section, this sand deposit appears to be a flood deposit on the floodplain. There is,

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Table 3.6: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Lime Creek Site Sedimentary Sample Unit Provenience

Lab Number

Material Dated

Uncorrected Age (yr B.P.) Delta 13C

Conventional Age (yr B.P.)

Ages (yr B.P. Mean Cal. at one sigma) Age (yr B.P.)

11b

Core 3 14.4–14.6 m

Tx-6779

humates

7910±1000

–20.1

7980±1000

7839–10,153

9000

12

Core 3 14.9–15.0 m

Tx-6778

humates

9060±510

–20.0

9120± 510

9556–11,063

10,310

Excavation B C-471 charred wood 9880±670 –25* 30 cm below 9167±600 Cultural Zone I in Unit 13 9524±450 avg.

9880±670 9524±450 avg.

10,188–11,554

10,870



12 or 13



9167±600

13b

Core 3 15.3–15.5 m

Tx-6777

humates

9960±270

–20.1

10,040±270

11,194–12,273

11,730

14

Core 3 16.5–16.6 m

Tx-6776

humates

10,030±450

–20.5

10,090±450

11,158–12,624

11,890

15

Core 3 17.1–17.2 m

Tx-6775

humates

13,670±530

–22.0

13,720±530

15,758–17,173

16,470

16

Core 3 17.9–18.0 m

Tx-6774

humates

28,000±1190

–26.4

27,970±1190

NA

NA

* Estimated.

however, a gradual coarsening upward within all of Unit 11 in Core 3 (between 14.9 and 14.4 m) that is evident in both the sand and silt percentages. The upward coarsening trend may reflect lateral migration of the Medicine Creek channel toward the north side of the valley. Davis’s profile A also shows Cultural Horizon II associated with a “dark zone” at the surface of the stratigraphic equivalent of the contact between Unit 11b and 11a in Core 3. The base of Unit 11a in Core 3 is slightly darker than all of Unit 11b and, thus, may be Cultural Zone II (Table 3.4). Radiocarbon Dating Seven samples of organics from the Lime Creek site have been assayed for radiocarbon since the site was excavated in 1948 and 1949. Willard Libby (1955) assayed the first sample (charcoal) at the University of Chicago for C. Bertrand Schultz (Davis 1962). The other six assays were of total humates in sediments that I collected from Core 3. These samples were

assayed at the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab. All radiocarbon ages from the Lime Creek site are listed in Table 3.6. Those relevant to the cultural horizons are discussed below. The black to very dark brown loamy Unit 14 (16.7to 16.0-m depth interval) is the base of the Holocene in Core 3; the assay of the interval between 16.6 and 16.5 m yielded a conventional radiocarbon age of 10,090±450 yr B.P. (Tx-6776). I reported this age (May 2002:Figure 5.8), but the assayed sample is incorrectly shown as being from the basal part of Unit 13 rather than from the basal part of Unit 14. The 10,090 yr B.P. age is slightly younger (100–400 radiocarbon years) than expected, given basal ages of Holocene alluvium elsewhere in the Medicine Creek Basin (see discussion of Medicine Creek cutbank site and Stafford site later in this chapter) and the Republican River Basin (Martin 1992). An assay of total humates from the upper 20 cm (15.5–15.3 m) of Unit 13b, a very dark brown to very

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

dark grayish brown loam, provides one bracketing age for Cultural Zone I at the Lime Creek site. The assay produced an age of 10,040±270 yr B.P. (Tx-6777). This dated sample included abundant charcoal that may be of cultural origin, but there were no lithic flakes in the Core 3 sample to unequivocally demonstrate a cultural origin. Conyers (2000:Figure 3) chose to include this increment of sediment in Cultural Zone I, so his basal age for the horizon is 10,040 yr B.P. Stratigraphic Unit 12 (15.1–14.9 m) may be the upper part of Cultural Zone I in Core 3. The assay of total humates from the upper 10 cm of this stratum yielded an age of 9120±510 yr B.P. (Tx-6778). The sample of charcoal from the Lime Creek site that was assayed in the early 1950s at the University of Chicago appears to come from either Sedimentary Unit 12 or 13 based on information from Davis (1962: Figure 32), or approximately the same stratigraphic position as humate samples Tx-6777 and Tx-6778. Libby (1955) determined an age of 9524±450 yr B.P. (C-471) based on an average of two radiocarbon assays of charred wood. Despite the uncertainties associated with the methods used for beta counting at the time, and the caveats Davis (1962:31) listed that might explain why the University of Chicago age may be too young, the age of sample C-471 overlaps at one standard deviation with both of the University of Texas ages of humates from Units 12 and 13. Organic matter content in samples from Core 3 decreased substantially in the units above Unit 12, as evidenced by both laboratory measurements and observations of the color of the sediment in the core (Tables 3.4–3.5). Thus, the last radiocarbon assay that was attempted in Core 3 was for a 20-cm-thick sample from the uppermost part (14.6–14.4 m) of Unit 11b. The resulting age, 7980±1000 yr B.P. (Tx-6779), has a large standard deviation but is stratigraphically consistent with all others from the core. Importantly, if, as suggested above in the section on stratigraphy, Cultural Zone II is at the contact between Units 11b and 11a, then Cultural Zone II is about 8,000 radiocarbon years old. The alluvial and cultural stratigraphy at the Lime Creek site is shown to scale along with the University of Texas radiocarbon ages in Figure 3.6.

31

Figure 3.6 Complete Lime Creek site (25FT41) stratigraphic section drawn to scale with Schultz’s sedimentary units (Arabic numbers) shown along the left side of the profile and Davis’s (1962) cultural zones shown on the profile in Roman numerals. The stratigraphic positions of radiocarbon-dated samples from Drill Core 3 are shown by solid circles on the profile, and the conventional radiocarbon ages of humates in these samples are shown on the right side of the profile.

Red Smoke Site (25FT42) The stratigraphy at the Red Smoke site was first described by Davis (1953a, 1954a, 1954b) during excavation of the site between 1950 and 1953 (Davis 2002). The Red Smoke site is the only one of the three Paleoindian sites excavated in the late 1940s and early 1950s that usually remains above the elevation of the normal pool level of Medicine Creek reservoir. Thus, I was able to describe a stratigraphic section at the site

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Figure 3.7 Red Smoke site (25FT42) stratigraphic section (not to scale). Modified from Davis 1953a:381 and May 2002:45. Arabic numerals on the right side of the section are field designations of cultural horizons by E. Mott Davis (1953a). Roman numerals to the right of the stratigraphic section are the final cultural horizons (zones) identified by Davis (personal communication, March 27, 1990). Conventional radiocarbon ages of charcoal and humates in sediment samples are shown to the right side of the stratigraphic section. Radiocarbon ages of humins (Tx-8226b and Tx8546), the humates from the gully fill (Tx-8227), and the charcoal determined by Libby (C-824 [1955]) are not shown (see Table 3.8).

and to recognize Davis’s (1953a) sedimentary units. Radiocarbon ages were determined for the site in the 1950s and 1960s and again in the 1990s as part of our reinvestigation of the site. Stratigraphy At the Red Smoke site Davis (1953a, 1954b) recognized five sedimentary units and numbered them from 1 (bottom) to 5 (top). He also identified a major unconformity between Units 3 and 4 (Figure 3.7). I excavated a pit below the modern floor of Medicine Creek Valley at the eastern end of the original excavations to expose in situ sediments in Unit 1. Sedimentary Unit 2 was exposed in the lower part of the vertical bluff above the Medicine Creek floodplain, and Units 3 and 4 were exposed in steps I cut into the bluff and in the eroded walls of excavation units. The complete description is provided in Table 3.7.

In his doctoral dissertation, Davis (1954a:Figure 7) described Unit 1 as “gray clayey silts,” whereas his final profile for the site showed Unit 1 as a “dark blue-black clay” at the base grading upward to a “dark gray-brown clayey silt” (1954b:Figure 1; for a summary of Davis’s final stratigraphic descriptions and his Figure 1, see Knudson 2002:89–96). I described Sedimentary Unit 1 as dark grayish brown to very dark grayish brown mostly massive silt. Cultural Zone I (zone 78 in the original field designations as reported to me by E. Mott Davis, personal communication, March 27, 1990, [these field designations of cultural horizons are listed below in parentheses after the final designations, which are listed in Roman numerals]) and blocks of jasper were present in the lower part of Sedimentary Unit 1 (Davis 1954b:Figure 1), and Cultural Zone II (also 78) was present in the upper part of this unit (Davis 1954a:46, 1954b:Figure 1).

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

33

Table 3.7: Description of Sediments Exposed along Approximately the 90E Line at the Red Smoke Site Sedimentary Unit

Depth (m)

Description

4 0–267

Brown (10YR4/3) silt and very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) very fine sand; horizontally laminated (darkest laminae at 195–197, 203–204, and 205–208 cm); very friable consistence; few, fine vertical carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth to slightly wavy lower boundary; bison bone fragment at 241 cm (Cultural Zone VII [91]?).

4 267–275

Brown (10YR4/3) silt; horizontally laminated and rippled, with soft-sediment deformation features; very friable consistence; few, fine distinct brownish yellow (10YR6/8) mottles; abrupt, wavy lower boundary; base of this unit is unconformity at site (Davis 1953a).

3 275–374

Grayish brown (2.5Y5/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; few, medium and coarse carbonate concretions; common, medium and coarse, distinct brownish yellow (10YR6/8) mottles; abrupt, smooth to slightly wavy lower boundary.

3 374–435

Grayish brown (2.5Y5/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; common, coarse carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary; some rodent burrows.

2 435–466

Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; common, medium carbonate concretions; gradual, smooth lower boundary; common rodent burrows.

2 466–487

Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; few, medium carbonate concretions; diffuse, smooth lower boundary; common rodent burrows.

2 487–542

Dark brown (10YR3/3) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence, few, medium carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary; some worm tubules.

1 542–585

Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; common, medium carbonate concretions; gradual, smooth lower boundary; some worm tubules and general mixing of sediment.

1 585–608

Very dark grayish brown (2.5Y3/2 and 10YR3/2) silt; horizontally laminated; friable consistence; few, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary; darker strata at 585–588, 592–595, and 598–600 cm.

1 608–615

Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) silt; structureless, massive; friable consistence; few, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary; some worm tubules.

1 615–645

Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt; structureless, massive; very friable consistence; extends below bottom of pit.

Note: Sediments were described by David May, July 8, 1988. The contact between Sedimentary Units 4 and 5 is very obvious and thus was used as a reference depth. Depths listed are depths below the contact between Sedimentary Units 4 and 5.

Davis described Sedimentary Unit 2 as a “graybrown to brown silt” with “dark streaks in its lower part and carbonaceous zones in its upper part, the latter zones probably being imperfectly developed soil profiles” (1954a:46). Davis showed Sedimentary Unit 2 as a “medium-brown, striated silt” grading upward into “dark yellow-brown striated silt” (1954b:Figure 1). Cultural Zone III (80) is near the base of this unit, and Cultural Zone IV (83) is in the upper part of the unit

(Davis 1954a, 1954b:Figure 1). I described the lower half of this unit as dark brown massive silt containing a few medium carbonate concretions and the upper half of the unit as dark grayish brown massive silt with common, coarse carbonate concretions. In Davis’s dissertation he described Sedimentary Unit 3 at Red Smoke as “brown silt of colluvial and aeolian origin” (1954a:46). In the final report on the site, Unit 3 is shown as “brown sandy silt” with the

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Chapter 3

lower boundary of the unit dipping eastward (Davis 1954b:Figure 1). I described Unit 3 as a massive, grayish brown silt with coarse carbonate concretions. The upper portion of the unit is mottled with some dark yellowish brown mottles. Unit 3 extends to the modern surface in the western portion of the site, while in the eastern portion of the site an unconformity dipping southeastward is the surface of Unit 3 (Figure 3.7). Cultural Zone V (88), the main cultural horizon at the site, is within the lower part of Unit 3 (Davis 1954a:46, 1954b:Figure 1). Unit 3 is overlain in the eastern part of the site by Sedimentary Units 4 and 5 (Davis 1954a, 1954b:Figure 1). The unconformity at the site between Sedimentary Units 3 and 4 is significant for several reasons. First, this unconformity was not recognized at the Allen and Lime Creek sites (Davis 1953a:382). Second, it indicates that running water removed some of Unit 3 and may have removed some cultural material. Third, Davis stated that “a clayey zone in Unit 3 immediately below the unconformity indicates that Unit 3 underwent not only erosion, but soil formation as well” (1954a:48). Fourth, the amount of time that is represented by the unconformity and soil formation is unknown yet is important to appreciating the age of the Cultural Zone VI (90) that appears to be on the unconformity. Davis (1954a:48) estimated that the time between occupation zones V (88) and VI (90) is probably centuries or millennia. The unconformity dips more sharply southeastward than other lithologic boundaries or any of the cultural zones. My examination and description of the deposits immediately below the unconformity failed to reveal that a soil is present in the upper part of Unit 3. I did, however, observe mottling in the upper of two thick strata that comprise Unit 3. The mottling probably indicates that the upper stratum in Unit 3 retained infiltrating water longer, and thus it may be slightly more enriched in clay than the lower stratum of Unit 3. The abrupt lower boundary of the upper stratum of Unit 3 indicates that the finer texture of this stratum is probably the consequence of the fluvial deposition of clay rather than soil formation. Davis recognized stratified sands and silts at

the base of Sedimentary Unit 4 (Figure 3.7). Davis described Unit 4 as mostly “made up of laminated brown silts, probably deposited in intermittent shallow water” (1954a:47). In his summary profile in his final report on the site, he described Unit 4 as “laminated brown silt with carbonaceous zones” (1954b:Figure 1). Cultural Zones VII (91) and VIII (92) are in the lower part of Unit 4. I described Unit 4 as consisting of horizontally laminated brown silt and very dark grayish brown very fine sand. Based on my observation of soft-sediment deformation structures within Unit 4, I would concur with Davis’s (1954a:47) assessment that Unit 4 was deposited intermittently in shallow water. Sedimentary Unit 5, which is only present at the far eastern end of the site, was called “brown loessic silt” (Davis 1954a:47), “brown silt” (Davis 1954a:Figure 10), and “brown loess” (Davis 1954b:Figure 1). I described it as massive brown silt. In the late 1940s it was common for geologists working in the Great Plains to call massive silt deposits “loess.” It is much more likely that it rapidly accumulated by fluvial processes. Davis (1954a:47) noted that this unit has been severely eroded during the creation of the modern hillslope. The modern height of the eroded Terrace 2 at the east end of the Red Smoke site, where it is best preserved, is only 7.8 m (25 ft; Davis 1954a:45). I estimate that most of the erosion that shaped the modern landscape at the site occurred within the last 4,000 years, based on regional ages for similar terraces in valleys in the central Great Plains (Martin 1992; May 1992). Radiocarbon Dating Twelve samples of charcoal and sediments from the Red Smoke site have been assayed for radiocarbon since the site was excavated and reported on by Davis (1953a, 1954a, 1954b). The first sample was run at the University of Chicago. The other 11 assays were done at the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab. As part of the renewed research effort at the site in the 1990s, Douglas Bamforth and I had both total humates and the more-resistant organic fraction, humins, assayed to compare the ages of the organic fractions with each other and with the age

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

35

Table 3.8: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Red Smoke Site Sedimentary Sample Unit Provenience

Lab Number

Material Dated

Uncorrected Age (yr B.P.) Delta 13C

Conventional Age (yr B.P.)

Ages (yr B.P. at one sigma)

Mean Cal. Age (yr B.P.)

4 Zone VIII C-824 charcoal 8570±300 –25* (92) 9153±600 8862±230

8570±300 9153±600 8862±230 9629–10,209 avg. avg.

4

May’s profile 248–258 cm

Tx-8546

humin

11,580±340

–17.9

11,700±350

13,188–14,091

13,640

4

Zone VI (90) Feature 867

Tx-333

charcoal

7970±210

–25*

7970±210

8541–9126

8830

4

Zone VI (90) Tx-6729 Features 857 and 863

charcoal

8050±500

–25*

8050±500

8391–9525

8960

3 or 4

Zone VI (90) Tx-6730 (poss. V [88]) Features 1007 and 1224

charcoal

8270±80

–25*

8270±80

9093–9420

9260

3

Zone V (88) Tx-7558a Feature 1593 Tx-7558b

charcoal humates

8860±130 8920±130

–25.5 –25.5

8830±130 8910±130

9710–10,149 9793–10,209

9930 10,000

3

May’s profile 388–394 cm

humates

3650±70

–18.4

3750±70

3985–4232

4110

2

Below Zone Tx-7517a charcoal 9230±90 –25.4 V (88) 7517a charcoal 9210±90 –25.0 Feature 1419 Tx-7517b

9220±90 9206±90 9210±60 avg.

10,244–10,470

10,360

1

May’s profile Tx-8226a 598–603 cm Tx-8226b

9820±80 11,940±390

11,162–11,331 13,428–15,038

11,250 14,230



Tx-8227

humates humin

9730±80 11,880±390

–19.6 –21.3

9920

* Estimated.

of charcoal. All radiocarbon assays done on organics from the Red Smoke site are listed in Table 3.8 and discussed below in stratigraphic order. During our reinvestigation of the Red Smoke site I collected a bulk sediment sample in a soil pit from a depth interval of 598–603 cm. This sample came from the lowest of three, thin (2- to 3-cm-thick) darker laminae in the laminated interval of sediment within the upper portion of Unit 1 (Table 3.7). The thin, dark stratum sampled for radiocarbon assay contained charcoal,

chipped stone, and a bone fragment; it is likely Cultural Zone II (78; Davis 1953a, 1954b). Total humates in this sample were dated at 9820±80 yr B.P. (Tx-8226a; Figure 3.7). The humin fraction of another bulk sediment sample from the same depth interval yielded an age of 11,940±390 yr B.P. (Tx-8226b). Thus, the humin fraction is about 2,000 years older than total humates. The better age for the upper part of Unit 1 and for Cultural Zones I and II at the Red Smoke site is the age of total humates, 9820 yr B.P. (Tx-8226a).

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The lower part of Sedimentary Unit 2 and the cultural materials within the lower part (Cultural Zone III [80]) have not been dated. However, the radiocarbon age of the upper part of Unit 2 has been determined. Mott Davis picked 20.8 g of charcoal from two pints of sediment that had been collected during the 1952 excavations from the western portion of the site where the contact between Sedimentary Units 2 and 3 was not distinct. Based on the depth interval of the sample, the sediment containing the charcoal appears to have been collected from the upper part of Unit 2. Davis (personal communication, March 24, 1992) also reported that the sediment and charcoal definitely came from below Cultural Zone V (88). The charcoal sample was split and assayed on two separate counters; the average age of the two samples was reported as 9210±60 (Tx-7517). Cultural Zone V (88) is in Sedimentary Unit 3. A radiocarbon age for charcoal in this cultural zone provides the best age for Unit 3. A sample of charcoal and burned bone from Cultural Zone V near the center of the site was dated at 8860±130 yr B.P. (Tx-7558a). The radiocarbon assay of total humates in a sample of the sediment surrounding the charcoal and burned bone yielded an age of 8920±130 yr B.P. (Tx-7558b; Figure 3.7). The close correspondence between the age of total humates in the sediment and the age of charcoal in the sediment suggests that total humate ages are indeed reliable ages for constructing alluvial chronologies in southwestern Nebraska. Mott Davis submitted charcoal and sediment samples from the unconformity between Sedimentary Units 3 and 4 to the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab for radiocarbon assay. One sample (Tx-6730) “was at the unconformity and might have been in Zone V but in the field appeared most likely to be in Zone VI” (chapter 2). This sample dated to 8270±80 yr B.P. He also submitted a sample from Cultural Zone VI (90), which was right on the unconformity. The age of this sample is 8050±500 (Tx-6729). In the 1960s the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab had assayed a sample of charcoal (Tx-333) that was collected near the east end of the site from Cultural Zone VI where it was just above the unconformity. The published age

of 7970±210 yr B.P. (Valastro et al. 1967) is probably the best age for the unconformity, but the three radiocarbon ages overlap at one standard deviation (Figure 3.7). An episode of erosion of valley fill 2a occurred locally about 8,000 radiocarbon years ago. I collected a bulk sample of sediment from the horizontally laminated silt and very fine sand in the lower part of Sedimentary Unit 4 for radiocarbon assay. The sample came from 248–258 cm below the top of the unit and from 17–27 cm above the unconformity between Units 3 and 4. Stratigraphically, it came from Cultural Zone VII (91; Davis 1953a, 1954b). I had the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab assay the humin fraction of the sediment, because the unconformity and Cultural Zone VI (90) already had been reliably dated with charcoal samples, and we wanted to determine the difference in age between the humin fraction and the charcoal. The age difference is dramatic: the humins dated to 11,700±300 yr B.P. (Tx-8546). This age is nearly 4,000 years older than the ages of charcoal from the base of Unit 4. These comparisons suggest that the humin fraction is not reliable for dating alluvial and colluvial sediments derived from loess deposits in western Nebraska. C. Bertrand Schultz submitted a sample of charcoal from the highest (youngest) cultural zone at the Red Smoke site (Cultural Zone VIII in Davis 1954b or Cultural Zone 92 in Davis 1953a) in the early 1950s to the University of Chicago. The age of this sample was reported by Libby (1955:110) as an average (8862±230; C-824) of two samples (Table 3.8). The age was determined using the first generation of radiocarbon-dating technology, so it has been rejected (E. Mott Davis and Sam Valastro, personal communication, March 24, 1992). Indeed, it is clearly too old. Horizontally laminated very fine sand in a swale at Red Smoke was sampled and dated because it was associated with lithic flakes and bone fragments. The sediment and cultural materials in the swale were deposited by running water. We chose to determine the age of the swale because the timing of an erosion episode is important to understanding the evolution of the site. Total humates in this sample (Tx-8227) dated to 3750±70 yr B.P. The age indicates that an episode

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

37

Figure 3.8 Medicine Creek cutbank as viewed toward the southeast from the creek. Exposed section is just over 14 m high. Upper grassed 6 m of cutbank is not shown. Extension ladder is about 7 m (23 ft) tall. Figure 3.9 is a close-up of the base of the cutbank at the lower right. Photograph by David May, July 20, 1989.

of erosion and redeposition of sediment and cultural material from upslope occurred following the accumulation of all five sedimentary units (fill 2a) at the site. Renewed gully, rill, and sheet erosion across the hillslope at the Red Smoke site would have been triggered by downcutting of Lime Creek. The 3750 yr B.P. age is consistent with other radiocarbon ages for downcutting of the Republican River after the accumulation of Terrace 2a fill (Martin 1992). Medicine Creek Cutbank One goal of the stratigraphic reinvestigation of the Paleoindian sites in the Medicine Creek reservoir area was to find exposures of the lower portions of fill 2a beneath Terrace 2. Although most such exposures are now underwater, we successfully located such an exposure in a cutbank along Medicine Creek immediately upstream of the upper end of the reservoir (Figures 3.1–3.2, 3.8). At this site, Medicine Creek is eroding into one of the most undissected and complete remnants of Terrace 2 found anywhere in the reservoir area. Here, Terrace 2 is a nearly flat area at about 736.4 m (2,430 ft) above sea level that covers more than 1.3 km2 (0.5 mi2) northeast of the cutbank site. The terrace is 20.0 m above the normal elevation of Medicine Creek. Not

only is this section more complete than the one Schultz and Frankforter (1948) described at the Lime Creek site, their type locality for fill 2a (Schultz et al. 1951), but it is also a more complete section of alluvium than Elias (1949) described very near the Allen site (the lower part of his section included 6 m [20 ft] of bedrock). Stratigraphy Although the upper 5.87 m of the Medicine Creek cutbank is covered by grasses, the description of the remainder of fill 2a (Table 3.9) at this cutbank is more detailed than those previously provided (Conyers 2000; Davis 1953a, 1962; Elias 1949; Schultz and Frankforter 1948). The stratigraphy at the base of the Medicine Creek cutbank is most pertinent to Paleoindian geoarchaeology in the basin. Units 1–5 (numbered from bottom to top) are dark gray to very dark grayish brown silty clay to silt loam (Figure 3.8). These lower five units at the Medicine Creek cutbank appear to be equivalent to Unit 6 at the Lime Creek site—the dark gray, carbonaceous clay with silty lenses that Schultz and Frankforter recognized at the Lime Creek site (Unit 13 in Davis 1962) on which Cultural Zone I rests. Units 6–8 in the Medicine Creek cutbank are dark grayish brown silt loam, ripple laminated in the

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Table 3.9: Description of Sediments Exposed in the Medicine Creek Cutbank Sedimentary Unit

Depth (m)

Covered 0.0–5.87 18 5.87–6.05 17 6.05–7.19 16 7.19–7.75 15 7.75–8.45 14 8.45–12.96 13 12.96–13.06 12 13.06–14.86 11 14.86–15.39 10 15.39–16.41 9 16.41–16.62 8 16.62–16.94 7 16.94–17.09 6 17.09–17.82 5 17.82–18.26 4 18.26–18.33 3 18.33–19.19 2 19.19–19.74 1 19.74–19.95

Description

Sloping surface covered with grass; not described. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; massive to weak, fine, subangular blocky structure; abrupt and smooth boundary; abrupt and smooth boundary; organic-rich stratum. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam; horizontally laminated at base (laminae 5–6 cm thick) and grading upward to massive; common, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt and smooth boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam; horizontally laminated and massive; few, medium, distinct, yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; few to common, fine, vertical carbonate concretions; abrupt and smooth boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; weak, fine and medium, subangular blocky structure; few to common, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt and smooth boundary organic-rich stratum. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam; mostly structureless, massive, with a few, very thin clay drapes present in the lower part; few, fine carbonate concretions and a few magnesium concretions; abrupt, smooth boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; massive to weak, fine, subangular blocky structure; abrupt and smooth boundary; organic-rich stratum. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam (more very fine sand than above); massive to horizontally laminated; 2-cm-thick darker stratum at base of unit; abrupt and slightly wavy boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) and very dark gray (10YR3/1; in the middle of stratum) silt loam; moderate, fine, subangular blocky structure; gradual, smooth boundary; organic-rich stratum; 14C sample 15.19–15.29 m: conventional age of humins 7600±270 yr B.P. (Tx-6549). Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam; structureless, massive; common, fine, distinct, yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; common, fine, carbonate concretions (especially from 15.69 to 16.29 m); abrupt and slightly wavy boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) and grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt loam; structureless, massive; 3-mm-thick clay drape at surface of stratum; few, fine, distinct, yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; abrupt and smooth boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) and brown (10YR4/3) silt loam; massive at the base and horizontally laminated in the upper part with a prominent laminae about 3–7 cm thick; few, fine, distinct yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; abrupt and smooth boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) at base grading upward to brown (10YR4/3) silt loam; horizontally laminated; few to common, distinct, fine to medium yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; abrupt and smooth boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) and very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) silt loam; ripple laminated with load structures; individual laminae 0.5–3 cm thick; few to common, fine to medium, yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles; abrupt to clear and smooth to wavy boundary. Very dark grayish brown (10YR3/2) and dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; horizontally laminated and ripple laminated with individual strata 1–5 cm thick; few, fine, distinct yellowish brown (10YR5/4) mottles and few, fine, distinct black (2.5Y2/0) mottles 17.82–18.04 m; clear and smooth boundary; organic-rich stratum; bioturbation common throughout. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam; structureless, massive; clear and smooth boundary; much bioturbation throughout. Very dark brown (10YR2/2) silt loam; structureless, massive; clear and smooth boundary; organic-rich stratum; 14C sample 18.33–18.43 m: conventional age of humins 10,500±260 yr B.P. (Tx-6731a); conventional age of humic acids 9350±90 yr B.P. (Tx-6731b). Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) silt loam with more clay than above; moderate, fine, subangular blocky structure; few to common, fine, carbonate concretions; gradual and smooth boundary; 14 C sample 19.64–19.74 m: conventional age of humins 10,850±670 yr B.P. (Tx-6550). Dark gray (10YR4/1) silty clay loam; weak, fine, subangular blocky structure; surface of Medicine Creek at 19.95 m below Terrace 2.

Note: Sediments were in the southeast quarter of the southeast quarter of the northeast quarter of section 19, Township 6 North, Range 26 West. Sediments were described by David May, July 21, 1989. All depths are below the surface (Terrace 2), 4 m south of an American elm tree and northwest of the concrete post benchmark.

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Table 3.10: Radiocarbon Ages Determined for Samples from the Medicine Creek Cutbank Sample Lab Material Uncorrected Conventional Depth Number Dated Age (yr B.P.) Delta 13C Age (yr B.P.)

Range of Cal. Ages (yr B.P. at one sigma)

Mean Cal. Age (yr B.P.)

15.19–15.29

Tx-6549

humins

7510±270

–19.5

7600±270

8,039–8745

8390

18.33–18.43

Tx-6731a

humins

10,400±260

–17.9

10,500±260

11,961–12,865

12,410



Tx-6731b

humic acids

9200±90

–16.3

9350±90

10,418–10,689

10,550

19.64–19.74

Tx-6550

humins

10,780±660

–20.9

10,850±670

11642–13,492

12,570

lowest unit (6) to horizontally laminated in the upper unit (8). Pictures of the Lime Creek site at the time of its discovery (Schultz and Frankforter 1948:Figures 2–3) show the deposits immediately above their carbonaceous clay and Cultural Zone I (Unit 5 [12] at Lime Creek) as being both ripple and horizontally laminated, indicating equivalency to Units 6–8 in the Medicine Creek cutbank Radiocarbon Ages Four radiocarbon assays were done on sediment samples from the Medicine Creek cutbank at the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab. I elected to determine the ages of the base of Unit 2, of Unit 3, and of Unit 11. The radiocarbon ages are all listed in Table 3.10 and are discussed below. The radiocarbon assay of the humin fraction of a sediment sample collected from the base of Unit 2 at the Medicine Creek cutbank (the depth interval of the sample was 19.64–19.74 m) yielded an age of 10,850±670 yr B.P. (Tx-6550; Figure 3.9). Although this age is perhaps a little older than the basal deposits of fill 2a at the Lime Creek site, it is stratigraphically consistent with the other ages within the Medicine Creek cutbank section and with the ages for charcoal from Occupation Level 1 at the Allen site. Perhaps Unit 2 in the Medicine Creek cutbank is equivalent to the buried soil identified at the Allen site that contains OL 1. Two radiocarbon assays were run on a sample of organic-enriched sediment from the upper 10 cm of Unit 3 at the Medicine Creek cutbank. The assay of humins yielded an age of 10,500±260 yr B.P.

(Tx-6731a; Figure 3.9), and the assay of humic acids in this sample produced an age of 9350±90 yr B.P. (Tx-6731b). Total humates should yield an average of these ages (Sam Valastro, personal communication, 1992). A simple average of the mean ages is 9925 yr B.P. The age of humins is stratigraphically consistent with other ages of humins from the cutbank, and the estimate of the age of total humates is in line with the humate ages of the basal Holocene deposits from Lime Creek Core 3. The Medicine Creek cutbank ages further corroborate my interpretation that the very earliest Holocene alluvium (11,000–10,000 radiocarbon years B.P.) was removed by channel erosion at the Lime Creek site while being preserved along Medicine Creek at the cutbank upstream of the reservoir and at the Allen site. Stafford Site The Stafford site is along Lime Creek about 1.5 km upstream from the Red Smoke site and from the upper reaches of the reservoir (Figures 3.1, 3.10). The site has not received the attention that the other Paleoindian sites in the area have because it was not discovered during the field surveys in 1947 and because it is not on property managed by the Bureau of Reclamation. The thickness of the remnant of Terrace 2a alluvial fill (Schultz and Frankforter 1948) at the Stafford site (6.72 m) is much less than that at the Red Smoke and Lime Creek sites down the valley. Evidently, much of the upper part of Terrace 2a valley fill at the Stafford site has been eroded. Only the basal part of the valley fill has been preserved.

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Stratigraphy Although the sediments that are exposed in the 6.72m-high cutbank at the Stafford site consist entirely of silt, the profile can be divided into two almost equal parts (Units 1 and 2) based primarily on color of the deposits and secondarily on the structures of the deposits (Table 3.11). The sediments between 3.28 and 6.72 m deep (Unit 1) are mostly grayish brown, while those in the upper 3.28 m of the profile (Unit 2) are brown. The lowermost 0.44 m of the sediments are generally horizontally laminated, with the thickness of individual laminae ranging from 1 to about 18 cm. The laminations in these sediments are indicative of rapid, episodic deposition by running water. The uppermost 2.28 m of sediment are mostly massive. The two alluvial units are separated by an unconformity at 3.28 m depth. Also, immediately underlying the unconformity is the only dark brown stratum described and the only stratum in the section with a subangular blocky structure and many root tubules. Thus, it appears that a soil developed at the surface of Unit 1 and then was truncated by the episode of erosion that created the unconformity. The 1.00 m of sediments immediately overlying the unconformity in the base of Unit 2 is horizontally laminated and contains dark brown laminae. I interpret this alluvium as derived from a soil, probably by gully erosion nearby.

Figure 3.9 Lower 2 m of alluvium exposed at the base of the Medicine Creek cutbank (approximately 17.95–19.95 m below surface [Terrace 2]). Stratigraphic Units 1 through 5 are shown and labeled. Locations where three radiocarbon samples were collected are also shown. Radiocarbon ages of humins in upper (Tx-6731) and lower (Tx6550) samples shown (middle sample was not dated). Trowel for scale in lower left side of profile. Photograph by David May, July 20, 1989.

Radiocarbon Dating The Stafford site had not been previously dated prior to our investigation of the site in the 1990s. Thus, a primary purpose of our investigation of the site was to establish a chronology of deposition that we could then compare with that at the other Paleoindian sites downstream. In 1993 we collected sediment samples from 10 5-cm-thick depth intervals. These samples were numbered from the bottom to top as 1 through 10. Large samples were collected to assure that enough sediment was available for both radiocarbon dating and pollen analyses. Eight radiocarbon ages have now been determined on sediments at the site by two laboratories: the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab and Beta Analytic, Inc. (Table 3.12). Beta Analytic, Inc., was used for dating after the University of Texas

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Figure 3.10 Stafford site cutbank along Lime Creek above Medicine Creek reservoir. Ladder marks position of described and sampled profile shown in Figure 3.11. Photograph by David May, May 27, 1993.

Radiocarbon Lab closed in the late 1990s. All but two of these ages were determined by conventional betacounting radiocarbon assay techniques. Two samples were determined by accelerator mass spectrometry (AMS) because of the small amount of organic carbon in the samples. For six of the eight samples, total humates were assayed (Figure 3.11). Two samples were duplicates collected to determine how the age of the humin fraction of the organic matter in the sediment compared with the age of total humates. The eight radiocarbon ages of total humates and the humin fraction of organics in sediments from the Stafford site range between 12,020 and 9460 yr B.P. and collectively do not exhibit a consistent age–depth relationship. For instance, although the oldest age determined is on humins in the lowest sample from the section (6.24–6.29 m depth), the oldest age of total humates is from the second-highest sample in the

section (3.28–3.33 m depth). Similarly, the youngest age of total humates is from a sample in the lower middle portion of the section (4.17–4.22 m). Martin and Johnson (1995) have demonstrated that radiocarbon ages of samples of loess and alluvium in Nebraska vary not only among different organic fractions but also among laboratories. It is possible that differences in procedures used by the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab and Beta Analytic, Inc., may account for some of the stratigraphic inconsistencies in ages. Thus, pairs of samples assayed by the same laboratory are compared to assess the age–depth relationship at the site. Two assays of humates performed at the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab are essentially the same age (10,540±100 yr B.P. [Tx-8224a] and 10,570±130 yr B.P. [Tx-8225a]) despite being 2.71 m apart in the section. Two assays of humates by Beta Analytic, Inc., produced different ages, but the ages are not consistent

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Table 3.11: Description of Sediments Exposed in a Cutbank at the Stafford Site Sedimentary Unit Depth (m)

Description

2 0–2.28 2 2.28–3.28 1 3.28–3.58 1 3.58–3.68 1 3.68–4.00 1 4.00–4.67 1 4.67–5.08 1 5.08–5.88 1 5.88–6.24 1 6.24–6.42 1 6.42–?

Brown (10YR5/3) silt; structureless, massive; common, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt lower boundary. (Only lower part described in detail, as upper part could not be reached from extension ladder.) Brown (10YR5/3) and dark brown (10YR4/3) silt; horizontally laminated (individual laminae vary from 1 to 8 cm thick); few medium carbon concretions and common, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary. Dark brown (10YR4/3) silt; weak, fine, subangular blocky structure; few, coarse, faint, gray mottles; few, fine carbonate concretions; common root tubules; abrupt, smooth, lower boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; structureless, massive; few, coarse carbonate concretions at the upper boundary, and few, fine carbonate concretions throughout; clear, smooth lower boundary. Some bioturbation of lower boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; horizontally laminated (individual laminae are 11–13 cm thick); few fine, black, manganese mottles; common, fine, carbonate concretions; clear, smooth lower boundary. Bones are extruding from the upper 20 cm of stratum. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; structureless, massive; few, fine black manganese mottles; few, fine carbonate concretions; clear, smooth lower boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; structureless, massive (except for two slightly darker laminae at 468–472 and 492–495 cm); few, fine, vertical, black manganese mottles; common, fine carbonate concretions; abrupt, smooth lower boundary. Dark grayish brown (10YR4/2) and brown (10YR5/3) silt; horizontally laminated (laminae 3–18 cm thick and dip slightly to the south); common, fine and medium carbonate concretions; diffuse, slightly dipping lower boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; horizontally laminated; common, distinct, fine and medium dark yellowish brown (10YR4/4) mottles; common, medium carbonate concretions; diffuse, smooth lower boundary. Grayish brown (10YR5/2) silt; horizontally laminated (laminae dip to south); common, black (10YR2/1) manganese mottles; common, medium carbonate concretions; clear, slightly dipping (to south) lower boundary. Upper part of stratum contains charcoal. Bone fragments and a large lithic flake were recovered from this stratum. Dark grayish brown (2.5Y4/2) silt; horizontally laminated; common, coarse black (2.5Y2/0) manganese mottles in upper part of stratum; many, medium, dark yellowish brown (10YR5/2) mottles throughout; common, medium carbonate concretions.

Note: Sediments were in the southeast quarter of the northeast quarter of the southwest quarter of section 16, Township 5 North, Range 26 West. Profile description is about 1.5 m north of the highest point on the cutbank and 9.7 m north-northwest of an elm tree with two trunks, each about 35 cm in diameter. The elm tree is just north of a gully that extends east–southeast and which is an important access route to the stream and site (see Figure 4.10). Sediments were described by David May, May 27, 1993. Depths were measured from the top of the cutbank.

with the relative stratigraphic positions of the samples. The assay of humates in the sample from 4.17–4.22 m deep yielded an age of 9460±150 yr B.P. (Beta-143119), whereas the assay of humates in the sample from the highest position in the section (2.80–2.85 cm) produced an age of 10,870±170 yr B.P. (Beta-143121). The two ages determined by AMS also are inconsistent with the stratigraphic positions of the two

samples. Total humates in the deeper sample from 5.08–5.13 m yielded an AMS age of 10,490±40 yr B.P. (Beta-143118), whereas the sample from immediately below the unconformity at 3.28–3.33 m produced an AMS age of 11,060±40 yr B.P. (Beta-143120). Though the pair of assays of humates in samples separated vertically by 2.71 m by the University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab produced essentially the same results, the pair of

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

43

Table 3.12: Radiocarbon Ages Determined at the Stafford Site Sample Depth and Lab Material Uncorrected Conventional Number Number Dated Age (yr B.P.) Delta 13C Age (yr B.P.)

Range of Cal. Ages (yr B.P. at one sigma)

Mean Cal. Age (yr B.P.)

2 .80–2.85 (#10) 3.28–3.33 (#9) 3.53–3.58 (#8) 3.53–3.58 (#8) 4.17–4.22 (#6) 5.08–5.13 (#4) 6.24–6.29 (#1) 6.24–6.29 (#1)

12,669–13,051 13,004–13,186 12,339–12,865 10,873–11,897 10,504–11,071 12,393–12,861 12,334–12,830 13,485–15,019

12,860 13,100 12,600 11,390 10,790 12,630 12,580 14,250

Beta-143121 Beta-143120 Tx-8225a Tx-8225b Beta-143119 Beta-143118 Tx-8224a Tx-8224b

humates humates humates humin humates humates humates humin

10,750±170 11,060±40* 10,490±130 9820±200 9340±150 10,490±40* 10,450±100 11,980±340

* Age determined by accelerator mass spectrometry.

assays of humins in the samples from the same depths yielded ages that differ by more than 2,100 years. This pair of assays, however, did yield stratigraphically coherent results. Why are the oldest radiocarbon ages usually from higher in the section at the Stafford site? The most likely answer is that older alluvium has been redeposited over younger alluvium and the radiocarbon ages are revealing processes of landscape evolution in the upper reaches of Lime Creek at the end of the Late Wisconsin and beginning of the Holocene. The small valley (the drainage area above the Stafford site is only 18 km2) apparently aggraded very rapidly with fill 2a. The source for much of the sediment was probably gullies running into Peoria Loess making up the adjacent hillsides. The age of organic matter in soils and sediments (loess) on the hillslopes and uplands reflect the transformation and turnover processes associated with soil formation in the Late Wisconsin. The youngest organic matter would have Figure 3.11 Stafford site cutbank between depths of approximately 220 and 640 cm showing locations of ten samples (numbers 1 to 10 at left) collected in May 1993. Unconformity is at the top of Sample 9 and separates Sedimentary Unit 1 (below) from Sedimentary Unit 2 (above). All radiocarbon ages of humates are shown to the right of the sample number (ages of humins are not shown). Photograph by David May, May 27, 1993.

–17.6 –19.0 –19.8 –21.4 –17.6 –17.2 –19.7 –22.1

10,870±170 11,160±40* 10,570±130 9880±200 9460±150 10,610±40* 10,540±100 12,020±340

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been in soils near the surface of the Late Wisconsin landscape. Thus, as sheet, rill, and gully erosion wore down hillslopes, the first eroded sediment deposited in Lime Creek Valley was the youngest. As erosion continued, progressively older, more isolated organic matter deeper in soils, gully fills, and Peoria Loess was transported into Lime Creek Valley. The rate of accumulation of fill 2a in Upper Lime Creek Valley at and upstream of the Stafford site must have been very rapid. The horizontal laminations, and more importantly, abrupt and clear lower boundaries of the alluvial strata, all indicate rapid sedimentation. Such rapid sedimentation would preclude both much growth of vegetation on the valley floor and subsequent decomposition and incorporation of younger organic matter in the sediment. Thus, the pattern of decreasing age upward in alluvium that has been observed at both the Lime Creek site and generally at the Red Smoke site was precluded at the Stafford site by the deposition of progressively deeper and older sources of sediment on the surface of the aggrading valley floor in Upper Medicine Creek Valley. Thus, landscape instability and rapid valley filling by alluvium from a variety of local sources and from different depths most likely account for the absence of a consistent age–depth trend at the Stafford site. One goal of our reinvestigation of the Paleoindian sites at Medicine Creek was to compare the ages of total humates and the humin fraction of deeply buried alluvial sediments. For a split sample, the age of the humin fraction is about 1,500 years older than total humates (Table 3.12, Tx-8224a and Tx-8224b), similar to the age difference between humates and humin for the deepest sample at the Red Smoke site (Tx-8226a and Tx-8226b). However, unlike at the Red Smoke site, the age of the humin fraction of a second, shallower sample (3.53–3.58 m) at the Stafford site is younger by about 700 years than total humates (Table 3.12, Tx-8225a and Tx-8225b). This is the only case in our study of the humin fraction being younger than total humates, although the ages almost overlap at two standard deviations. Martin and Johnson (1995) have found that, for Late Wisconsin and Early Holocene radiocarbon assays of the different fractions

of soil organic matter, the humin (residue) fraction was younger than total humates in two of four samples, essentially the same age in one sample, and about 2,000 years older in one sample. Thus, our study confirms that the ages of the humin fraction often are not stratigraphically consistent or reliably older than the ages of total humates. Finally, radiocarbon dating at the Stafford site provides a chronological framework for the cultural deposits that were discovered near the base of the cutbank. Bone fragments, charcoal, and a large lithic flake were present in the upper part of the stratum that is between 6.24 and 6.42 m deep. This stratum is just above the modern streambed. Although there are ages for both the humin fraction and total humates in the sediment from the upper part of this stratum, the humate ages in the Medicine Creek Basin are generally more similar to charcoal ages, so the humate age is used. Thus, the cultural materials at the Stafford site date to about 10,450 yr B.P. (Tx-8224a), which makes them older than Cultural Horizon I at Lime Creek and Red Smoke downstream but roughly contemporary with Occupation Level 1 at the Allen site. Summary and Conclusions The basal portion of fill 2a has been intensely studied at the Allen, Lime Creek, Red Smoke, and Stafford archaeological sites and at the Medicine Creek cutbank locality. This study has revealed that a stabilizing floodplain 10,500, 10,000, 9100, 8700, and 8000 yr B.P. provided occupation surfaces for Paleoindians in the Medicine Creek and Lime Creek valleys. At the Allen site, the two occupation levels appear to both be buried soils, although the upper buried soil, which dates to approximately 8700 yr B.P., is a less well-developed buried cumulic A horizon than the lower soil, which dates to approximately 10,450 yr B.P. At the Stafford locality cultural deposits are exposed just above the creek bed. The best age for this material is a total humate age of about 10,450 yr B.P., which is contemporaneous with Occupation Level 1 at the Allen site. Cultural Zone I at Lime Creek is associated with a buried A horizon. In this study I have demonstrated that the occupation occurred at about 10,000 yr B.P.,

Landforms, Alluvial Stratigraphy, and Radiocarbon Chronology /

although there may have been two discrete buried A horizons and potential occupation surfaces in some parts of the site. The upper of the two stable surfaces is tentatively dated at about 9100 yr B.P. Cultural Zone II at Lime Creek is not well dated in this study because the sediment lacked much organic matter. However, the occupation surface was a very weakly developed soil (buried A horizon) that formed about 8000 yr B.P. At Red Smoke our dating suggests that Cultural Zone II (78) in Sedimentary Unit I dates to 9800 yr B.P. Mott Davis demonstrated that Cultural Zone V (88) dates to about 8900 yr B.P. and that Cultural Zone VI (90) on the unconformity at the site dates to about 8200–8000 yr B.P. The positions of the five study sites within the Medicine Creek drainage basin strongly influenced Late Wisconsin and Early Holocene depositional and erosional events. The wide Medicine Creek Valley, with perennial flows, produced more continuous floodplain sedimentation at the Allen site than at the sites in the Lime Creek Valley. The rates of floodplain accretion apparently slowed sufficiently twice in the Early Holocene to produce two distinctive buried soils and occupation levels at the Allen site. The scatter of cultural material at the Allen site throughout the Intermediate Zone attests to more gradual sedimentation than at the Stafford site. Within the much narrower and steeper Lime Creek Valley, flows were probably only intermittent, so sediment accumulated much more episodically during infrequent high-magnitude rainstorms and resulting flash floods. These rains and floods caused headward migration of gully head scarps as well as eroded unconformities in the alluvium stored in the Lime Creek Valley. These processes of episodic deposition and erosion are especially evident at the Red Smoke and Stafford sites. The partial stratigraphic inversion of ages at Stafford is further testament to the importance of local gully erosion of older loess deposits constituting hillslopes to produce fill 2a high in the Lime Creek Basin. Our radiocarbon dating reveals that charcoal samples provide the most consistent and best ages for

45

dating landscape-forming events at the five study sites. When total humates were dated in sediment samples collected near charcoal samples, they yielded ages generally within one standard deviation of the charcoal ages. However, ages of humins were only stratigraphically consistent at the Medicine Creek cutbank (large drainage area) and were neither stratigraphically consistent nor consistently comparable to ages of total humates at the Red Smoke and Stafford sites (small drainage area). The geographic positions of the four archaeological sites within the basin also determined in part the degree to which they have been preserved through multiple episodes of Holocene erosion. The Stafford site, which is in the steepest and narrowest portion of the basin where no bedrock protects the site, has been and is most vulnerable to fluvial erosion. An unconformity within the alluvium at the site attests to its vulnerability to erosion. Much of the Terrace 2a fill has already been eroded near the site. Downstream at the Red Smoke site, the remnant of fill 2a is thicker, but episodic floods have eroded much of the 2a fill from the valley immediately upstream and downstream of the site. An 8,000-year-old unconformity is evident in the alluvium at the site as well as a 4,000-year-old gully across the site, attesting to episodic erosion. The Lime Creek site is in a slightly wider reach of Lime Creek Valley, and thus, preservation of the site likely has been a product of this valley morphology. Drilling by the Bureau of Reclamation demonstrated that more fill 2a indeed has been preserved here than upstream at the Red Smoke and Stafford sites. Finally, a general model of landscape evolution for the Medicine Creek Basin can be derived from the ages of alluvium at the five localities discussed in this chapter. Medicine Creek and Lime Creek valleys were deeply incised near the end of the Late Wisconsin. The valleys would actually have been cut slightly more deeply than they are today, creating a higher-relief landscape than is present today in the basin. Aggradation of the valley floor following this episode of erosion occurred quickly at first (e.g., the deepest units of Elias’s [1949] stratigraphic section). Sedimentation waned in at least

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Medicine Creek Valley about 10,500 radiocarbon years B.P. (e.g., Allen site Occupation Level 1) but probably also in Lime Creek Valley (e.g., Stafford site cultural horizon). Deposition of overbank alluvium was then episodic, but more so in Lime Creek Valley. The Lime Creek channel was on the northern side of the valley in the Early Holocene, so that a record of the stability of the valley at 10,500 yr B.P. has been removed by channel erosion. Cultural Horizon I at Lime Creek and Cultural Zone II (78) at Red Smoke occur on stable floodplain surfaces, perhaps on the bank of the Lime

Creek channel, at about 10,000 yr B.P. Another episode of stability and weak soil development is recognized in Lime Creek Valley at about 9100 yr B.P. In Medicine Creek Valley the weakly developed soil at the Allen site associated with Occupation Level 2 is dated at about 8700 yr B.P. At both the Lime Creek and Red Smoke sites, weak soil development occurred again as floodplain sedimentation waned at about 8000 yr B.P. A brief episode of erosion is recorded at the Red Smoke site (unconformity) at about 8000 yr B.P.

47

Chapter 4

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site Robert E. Warren Freshwater mussels (Mollusca: Bivalvia: Unionoidea) are aquatic mollusks with edible soft tissues and hard, calcareous shells. Historically, the streams and lakes of eastern North America housed the richest fauna of freshwater mussels in the world (Bogan 1993, 2006). More than 125 species have been documented in the Mississippi River Basin, and in some places mussels were once so abundant that they paved the beds of streams (Baker 1928; Ortmann 1926; van der Schalie 1973). In prehistory, American Indians often gathered freshwater mussels and used them either as a food resource, or as a source of raw material for the manufacture of shell artifacts, or both (Parmalee and Klippel 1974; Warren 2000, in press). However, there is a great deal of variation in the amounts of mussel shell that occur at different archaeological sites. The residues of mussel exploitation are virtually absent at many sites, but at others they form deep, extensive middens that consist largely of shell (Marquardt and Watson 1983; Morrison 1942; Warren 1975). These differences are to some extent a function of (1) geographical and temporal variation in the availability of exploitable mussel populations and (2) variation within and among the economic and technological systems of different societies. The cultural role or roles played by mussels in a prehistoric society can be inferred by analyzing the context, condition, composition, and relative abundance of mussel shell in archaeological deposits. Beyond their potential value as sources of information on ancient cultural behavior, mussels may also be

useful sources of proxy data on past environments. Like many other animals, mussels often have rather specific habitat tolerances that tend to enhance the survival rate of different species by minimizing competition among them (Baker 1928; Parmalee 1967). One effect of habitat specialization is the fact that mussel communities are highly variable from one place to another in terms of the presence and relative abundance of different species. Compositional variation is also evident in many archaeological mussel assemblages, and this variation can sometimes be attributed to environmental differences among the various streams and lakes that were exploited by ancient hunters and gatherers. For these reasons, it is possible to develop models of past aquatic environments based on the habitat preferences of mussel species that occur in archaeological assemblages (Matteson 1960; Morey et al. 2002; Warren 1991a). Mussel shells from the Allen site are associated with a series of Paleoindian occupations dating between 10,700 and 7600 cal B.C. (Bamforth et al. 2005). Shells from the earliest stratum (Occupation Level 1) constitute one of the oldest archaeological assemblages of freshwater mussels from eastern North America. This chapter describes the Allen site mussel sample and evaluates its cultural and paleoenvironmental significance. Most shells appear to represent the remains of a minor subsistence resource in a diet that was dominated by the exploitation of bison and a variety of other mammals (see chapter 12). Significant differences in species composition separate the Allen mussel assemblage from those of nearby Late Holocene sites. These

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Figure 4.1 Map of the Medicine Creek Dam locality in southwest Nebraska, showing the locations of the Allen site (25FT50) and 12 Plains Woodland and Upper Republican villages discussed in the text (after Wedel 1970b; Wood 1969).

differences probably reflect long-term changes in the ecological characteristics of Medicine Creek and its floodplain. The changes, in turn, have important implications for modeling the postglacial dynamics of mussel communities in eastern North America. Materials and Methods Environmental Setting The Medicine Creek Basin is located in a topographic region called the dissected plains, which is locally mantled by thick deposits of loess (Elder 1969). The area is transitional between the tall-grass prairies of the eastern Great Plains and the short-grass prairies to the west. Native vegetation in the basin consisted of short grasses on the uplands and valley slopes and tall grasses

in the valley bottoms. Trees—including cottonwood, ash, box elder, elm, hackberry, and cedar—occurred only in the stream valleys. Mean annual rainfall in the area is about 55 cm (Brice 1966). Medicine Creek is a perennial stream that is fed by both surface drainage and springs (Figure 4.1). The creek drains southeastward into the Republican River, a major drainage in the Kansas River system. The course of the Medicine Creek channel is relatively straight, although it occupies a somewhat meandering valley. Based on measurements of a preimpoundment map (Wedel 1970b), the sinuosity of the historical channel (ratio of channel length to valley length) was only about 1.14 in the lower 15 km of the reservoir area. The channel itself is proportionately broad and shallow,

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

49

Table 4.1: Species Composition of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site

Taxon

Left Valves

Right Valves

Total

Subfamily Ambleminae Quadrula pustulosa (Lea, 1831) 1 0 1 Quadrula quadrula (Rafinesque, 1820) 2 1 3 Quadrula sp. 1 0 1 Uniomerus tetralasmus (Say, 1831) 9 5 14 Subfamily Lampsilinae Lampsilis cardium Rafinesque, 1820 1 0 1 Lampsilis siliquoidea (Barnes, 1823) 2 1 3 Ligumia recta (Rafinesque, 1820) 1 1 2 Total

17

measuring about 12 m wide and 29 cm deep at a station located upstream from Harry Strunk Lake (Brice 1966). Modal discharge at the station is about 1.7 m3/sec, and modal current velocity is about 0.5 m/sec. Bed material at the station is primarily sand (80 percent), with about equal proportions of gravel (12 percent) and silt/clay (8 percent; Brice 1966). However, bed materials at other stations in the upper reaches of the Medicine Creek Basin contain lower proportions of sand and higher proportions of both coarser and finer sediments. Bed material in the main channel of Medicine Creek differs from that in its headwater and tributary streams (Brice 1966). Mussel Analysis The Allen mussel assemblage consists of both identifiable and unidentifiable shells. Identifiable specimens are defined as complete valves or valve fragments that retain the diagnostic umbo or beak portion of the shell. Unidentifiable specimens are valve fragments that lack the umbo. All but one of the identifiable specimens from the Allen site were identified to species. Identifications were aided with comparative shell collections from the University of Nebraska and the Illinois State Museum. Taxonomic nomenclature follows Turgeon et al. (1998). Specimen condition was assessed in terms of breakage and the presence of erosion, pitting, cracking, or discoloration of the shell surface. Some specimens have been treated with a coating of preservative

8

25

Percent

4.0 12.0 4.0 56.0 4.0 12.0 8.0 100.00

(Alvar), and most are in excellent condition. Although many shells show signs of cracking, there is little evidence of erosion or pitting. Shells were also examined for evidence that they had been culturally modified, either incidentally through charring or use-wear or by the intentional design and modification of shells as ornaments or tools. Species Composition The Allen site mussel assemblage consists of 126 pieces of shell. Twenty-five of these specimens are identifiable, and 24 have been identified to species. Six species are represented in the assemblage (Table 4.1; Figure 4.2), including Quadrula pustulosa, Q. quadrula, Uniomerus tetralasmus, Lampsilis cardium, L. siliquoidea, and Ligumia recta. All six have been found living in streams or lakes in the Central Plains, although their habitat preferences and ranges are somewhat varied. Quadrula pustulosa, commonly called the pimpleback (Figure 4.2a), is represented by one specimen in the Allen assemblage (4 percent of total). The pimpleback occupies a fairly wide range of habitats in the Mississippi River Basin. It inhabits rivers of all sizes and some perennial creeks, although it is rare or absent in natural ponds or lakes (Warren 1991a). It can be found in deep or shallow water but tends to prefer flowing water and a substrate of gravel or sand. The pimpleback has an extensive distribution in the Mississippi River system that extends westward into eastern Nebraska and Kansas. It has been documented

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Figure 4.2 Freshwater mussels from the Allen site (medial views): (a) pimpleback, Quadrula pustulosa (9134-48); (b) mapleleaf, Quadrula quadrula (1215-47); (c) pondhorn, Uniomerus tetralasmus (9563-48); (d) plain pocketbook, Lampsilis cardium (9525-48); (e) fatmucket, Lampsilis siliquoidea (9539-48); (f) black sandshell (male), Ligumia recta (1215-47); (g) black sandshell (female), L. recta (9564-48).

historically in the eastern part of the Kansas River Basin, including the Big Blue River in Nebraska and Kansas (Hoke 2004, 2005) and the Kansas, Solomon, and Smoky Hill rivers in Kansas (Hoke 1997; Murray and Leonard 1962). Biological surveys have failed to locate it in the Republican River system, although it has been reported in archaeological sites along the Republican River as far west as Harlan County, Nebraska (Roll 1968; Warren 1974a). The specimen from the Allen site is about 200 km west of the

pimpleback’s historical range, and it may be the westernmost record of the species in the Kansas River Basin. This species tends to be uncommon in archaeological samples. However, it is the leading dominant at four Late Holocene sites near the Solomon River in north-central Kansas, where its relative abundance ranges up to 74 percent (Warren 1974b). Quadrula quadrula, the mapleleaf (Figure 4.2b), is represented by three specimens in the Allen assemblage (12 percent). The mapleleaf is noteworthy for

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

the fact that it tolerates a wide range of environmental conditions (Warren 1991a). It tends to be most common in large rivers, but it also occurs in some small rivers and creeks. It has been documented in modern reservoirs (Parmalee 1955) but not in natural lakes or ponds. Quadrula quadrula can be found in a wide variety of water depths, current velocities, and substrates, although it prefers sandy or muddy bottoms and a moderate to standing current. The range of the mapleleaf is similar to that of the pimpleback, although it extends farther westward in the Central Plains. It is common to abundant in the eastern Kansas River Basin. It has been documented in the Big Blue River of Nebraska and Kansas (Hoke 2004, 2005) and the Kansas, Solomon, Saline, and Smoky Hill rivers of Kansas (Hoke 1997; Murray and Leonard 1962; Scammon 1906). Hoke (1997) recently collected live specimens from Medicine Creek, so Q. quadrula shells from the Allen site fall within the historical range of this species. The mapleleaf is remarkable for its numerical dominance of some archaeological assemblages in the Republican River Basin. It commonly accounts for more than 90 percent of shell samples recovered from sites in Harlan and Frontier counties in Nebraska (Kivett and Metcalf 1997; Stansbery 1969; Warren 1974a; Wedel 1986). Uniomerus tetralasmus, the pondhorn (Figure 4.2c), is the most abundant mussel in the Allen assemblage. It is represented by 14 specimens and accounts for 56 percent of the sample. The pondhorn has rather restricted environmental tolerances (Warren 1991a). It generally occurs either in pools along small headwater creeks or in backwater ponds and lakes on the floodplains of larger streams. It thrives in shallow (<1 m), standing water with a substrate of mud. In Oklahoma the pondhorn is often the dominant species in these habitats (Isely 1925). As noted by van der Schalie (1940), the pondhorn is capable of estivation and is one of the few species of North American Unionoidea that can survive in stream or lake beds that periodically dry out. The only known fish host for this species is the golden shiner (Notemigonus crysoleucas; Stern and Felder 1978), which is common in ponds, lakes, and sluggish sections of streams (Lee et al. 1980).

51

The pondhorn is one of the most widespread mussels in the Central Plains. In Kansas it has been found in the Kansas, Big Blue, Delaware, Solomon, Saline, and Smoky Hill river systems (Hoke 1997, 2004, 2005; Murray and Leonard 1962; Scammon 1906). It also occurs widely in the Republican River system, although living populations appear to be restricted to tributaries of the Republican main stem. In Nebraska, living or recent specimens have been documented in Medicine Creek and several other Republican tributaries, including Red Willow Creek and Frenchman River to the west (Hoke 1997). Archaeological records of the pondhorn are also extensive (Dorsey 2000; Kivett and Metcalf 1997); when present, however, it generally occurs in small numbers. Lampsilis cardium, commonly known as the plain pocketbook (Figure 4.2d), is represented by one specimen in the Allen assemblage (4 percent). Shells of this species are large, solid, and inflated and were often used as utensils or grave offerings by Pawnee Indians in the Central Plains (Warren 1989, 1990). The plain pocketbook’s habitat preferences are somewhat restricted (Warren 1991a). It is most abundant in medium to small rivers but also occurs in creeks. Its depth tolerance ranges from shallow to moderately deep water (0–4 m). It prefers moderate to swift currents and substrates of gravel or sand, although it can tolerate slow currents and muddy bottoms. The plain pocketbook’s range centers on the central Mississippi River system and extends into eastern Nebraska and Kansas. Historically, its distribution within the Kansas River Basin has been limited. Scammon (1906) reported it as an uncommon species in the Lower Kansas River (as Lampsilis ventricosa). Murray and Leonard (1962) did not observe it in any of their collections in the basin, although in 1976 Hoke (2005) found it living at one locality in the Big Blue River system in Nebraska. Hoke (1997) also reports it at two localities along the Republican River in southern Nebraska, but those specimens were “subfossil” shells that could represent ancient populations. These sparse records suggest that the historical range of Lampsilis cardium extended only into the lower reaches of the Kansas River system. The species is generally

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uncommon in Central Plains archaeological samples, although it does dominate some late prehistoric and historic collections from eastern Nebraska, western Iowa, and northwest Missouri (Warren 1989, 1990, 1991a, 1996). Lampsilis siliquoidea, the fatmucket (Figure 4.2e), is represented by three specimens (12 percent) in the Allen sample. This species inhabits rivers, creeks, and lakes of various sizes, generally in shallow (<1 m), slowly moving or standing water with a gravelly, sandy, or somewhat muddy substrate (Warren 1991a). The fatmucket has an extensive range in the midcontinental United States and Canada. However, its distribution in the Central Plains is fairly limited. It has been reported from the Big Blue River system in Nebraska and Kansas (Hoke 2004, 2005) and in the Kansas River in Kansas (as Lampsilis luteola; Scammon 1906). But in Murray and Leonard’s (1962) survey it occurred in the Kansas basin only in the lower reaches of the Kansas River (as L. radiata siliquoidea). Hoke (1997) found it at one station in the Republican River system (Medicine Creek in southwest Nebraska [as L. r. luteola]), but that specimen was a “subfossil” shell of unknown age. Specimens from the Allen site evidently are beyond the species’ documented historic range. With the exception of the Allen site, the fatmucket is generally rare in archaeological assemblages from the Kansas basin (Kivett and Metcalf 1997; Roll 1968; Warren 1974a). It is much more common at sites in eastern Nebraska and at Plains Village tradition sites along the Missouri River in the Dakotas (Warren 2000). Ligumia recta, the black sandshell (Figure 4.2f–g), is represented by two specimens (8 percent). This species is characteristic of large to medium-sized rivers, although it is sometimes found in small rivers (Warren 1991a). It usually occurs in shallow to moderately deep water (0–2 m), often in strong currents and gravelly or sandy substrates. The black sandshell has a broad distribution in the Mississippi River Basin, but historical records indicate it has become rare and may no longer live in the Central Plains (Obermeyer et al. 1997). According to Scammon (1906), it was common a century ago in tributaries of the Arkansas and Osage rivers in

southeastern Kansas (as Lampsilis recta). Call (1885) and Scammon (1906) also reported it in the Solomon and Lower Kansas systems in eastern Kansas. However, Murray and Leonard (1962) failed to locate it in their survey of the Kansas River Basin and were not able to validate the previous records of Call and Scammon. Hoke (2004, 2005) found “subfossil” shells of L. recta in the Big Blue River system in southeastern Nebraska and northeastern Kansas but no evidence of living or recent populations. There was no trace of it, fossil or otherwise, in Hoke’s (1997) survey of the Upper Kansas River system. Archaeological records suggest that L. recta was more widespread prehistorically in the Central Plains, but when it occurs it usually accounts for only a small proportion of mussel assemblages. Specimens have been reported from two sites near the Republican and Solomon rivers in Kansas (Roll 1968; Warren 1974a) and eight sites in the Republican River Basin in Nebraska (Kivett and Metcalf 1997; Roll 1968). Stratigraphic Distribution In 1948, mussel shell was recovered from both of the main cultural horizons at the Allen site, Occupation Level (OL) 1 and OL 2 (Table 4.2). Shell was also recovered from the Intermediate Zone (IZ) between strata OL 1 and OL 2, as well as excavation levels that overlaid OL 2. The stratigraphic relationships of shells from the 1947 test excavations at the site are unknown. As is evident in Table 4.2, the counts and weights of provenienced shell tend to peak in the IZ. However, these peaks may be misleading because of the greater depth and volume of excavations in this stratum. Estimates of shell density in strata OL 1, IZ, and OL 2 indicate that the deposition rate of shell was actually fairly even through time. Although the density of unidentifiable shell fragments is highest in the middle stratum, identifiable shells have a uniform density among the three strata (0.17–0.21 specimens/m3). The uniform density of identifiable mussel shell fails to correlate with the bimodal abundances and densities of artifacts and features from the three strata, which clearly peak in the two main occupation levels (Bamforth et al. 2005; Holder and Wike 1949).

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53

Table 4.2: Stratigraphic Distribution of Mussel Shell from the Allen Site Mussel Shell

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Stratum Occupation Above Level 2 Occupation Level 2

Total

Unknown

Unidentifiable Count (n) 6 36 8 1 50 Weight (g) 0.9 62.4 1.3 0.2 44.6 Density (n/m3) 0.41 0.83 0.46 — — Identifiable Count (n) 3 8 3 4 7 Weight (g) 34.2 133.8 16.2 75.9 73.3 Density (n/m3) 0.21 0.18 0.17 — —

101 109.4 0.66 25 333.4 0.18

Total Count (n) 9 44 11 5 57 Weight (g) 35.1 196.2 17.5 76.1 117.9 Density (n/m3) 0.62 1.01 0.63 — —

126 442.8 0.85

Note: Counts are frequencies of shells or shell fragments that are at least 6.35 mm (0.25 in) long. Most specimens that lack stratigraphic information were recovered during the 1947 test excavations at the site. Density values were calculated in reference to the volume of sediment excavation in Occupation Level 1 (14.51 m3), the Intermediate Zone (43.54 m3), and Occupation Level 2 (17.34 m3; see Holder and Wike 1949).

Although the reason for this inconsistency is unclear, the uniform deposition rate implies that the shells could have been deposited by recurrent natural processes, such as flooding or muskrat predation, rather than by people. However, this hypothesis is inconsistent with the fact that several shells in the collection are charred or otherwise modified by human activity (see below). Also, none of the relatively complete shells in the collection can be matched as paired left and right valves from a single individual, and none of the fragmentary shells is eroded. Paired valves, joined at the ligament, are commonly found together in natural deposits along modern streams, as are eroded shell fragments (Warren 1991b). It is difficult to evaluate variation through time in the species composition of the Allen mussel assemblage because only a handful of identified shells occurs in each stratum (Table 4.3). However, it is noteworthy that Uniomerus tetralasmus, the most abundant species in the assemblage, occurs in all four strata (OL 1, IZ, OL 2, and above OL 2). Moreover, this species is the leading dominant species in the two main occupation levels and in the IZ, and it is tied with Lampsilis siliquoidea as

Table 4.3: Stratigraphic Distribution of Freshwater Mussel Taxa at the Allen Site Stratum Taxon

Number of Mean Specimens Completeness

Above Lampsilis siliquoidea Occupation Level 2 Uniomerus tetralasmus

2

ccupation Quadrula quadrula O Level 2 Uniomerus tetralasmus

1 2

0.33±0.15

I ntermediate Lampsilis cardium Zone Ligumia recta Quadrula pustulosa Quadrula quadrula Quadrula sp. Uniomerus tetralasmus

1 1 1 1 1 3

0.48±0.42

ccupation Uniomerus tetralasmus O Level 1

3

0.47±0.25

Lampsilis siliquoidea Ligumia recta Quadrula quadrula Uniomerus tetralasmus

1 1 1 4

0.40±0.35

Unknown

2

0.47±0.45

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Figure 4.3 Shell scraping tool from the Intermediate Zone at the Allen site (8377-48), showing (a) lateral view, (b) medial view, and (c) oblique view of the worn and use-damaged ventral margin. The artifact was made from the right valve of a pondhorn shell (Uniomerus tetralasmus); the dorsal and posterior margins of the valve are missing.

the leading dominant in the uppermost stratum. This consistent pattern indicates that no major changes in species composition occurred during the occupation span of the site. It also provides some assurance that the high percentage of U. tetralasmus in the Allen sample is a valid indicator of its overall abundance. Nevertheless, it is reasonable to question whether taphonomic processes may have painted a skewed picture of species abundance at the Allen site. Could the predominance of Uniomerus tetralasmus in the Allen mussel sample be an artifact of differential preservation? One of the lessons of taphonomy—the study of site-formation processes that affect the burial, preservation, and distribution of biological materials in archaeological and paleontological sites (Lyman 1994; Sobolik 2003)—is that preservation bias can distort one’s view of the relative abundance of different species. Some mussels have thick, durable shells, whereas others are relatively thin and fragile. Thick-shelled species presumably outlast thin-shelled species in burial context, and this factor could skew abundance data. To check for preservation bias, all identifiable shells from the Allen site were coded for completeness on a scale of 0.1 (umbo fragment) to 1.0 (complete shell). Average completeness scores for all species combined show little variation among stratigraphic units at the site (Table 4.3). However, there are significant differences among species. The average completeness

score for Uniomerus tetralasmus, which has a relatively thin shell, is 0.24±0.19 (n = 14). The average for the other species, which have thicker shells, is 0.70±0.32 (n = 11). A comparison of median scores using the Mann-Whitney Rank Sum test indicates that the difference between the groups is statistically significant (T = 200.5; p = .002). Identifiable specimens of U. tetralasmus are more fragmented than the shells of other mussel species at the Allen site. Clearly, preservation bias cannot explain the relative abundance of U. tetralasmus in the mussel sample. If bias exists, it mitigates against this species rather than for it. Mussel Utilization If shells from the Allen site were gathered by people for use as a technological or a subsistence resource, one would expect to see signatures of human influence expressed in the condition or distribution of specimens that would serve to distinguish them from naturally occurring shell deposits. It should also be possible to interpret how mussels were used at the site. In general, the main indicators of subsistence usage include (1) low proportions of shells modified into artifacts and (2) large quantities of discarded shell in middens, refuse pits, or food-preparation facilities (Warren 1991a). One might also expect that mussels collected for food were obtained locally. This is because mussel tissue has relatively little caloric value

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

in comparison with other foods, and its net energy yield may be negligible when transport costs are factored into cost–benefit energy equations (see Warren 1983). Indicators of technological usage include (1) high proportions of shell artifacts in assemblages and (2) relatively small quantities of shells in refuse areas. Mussels collected for their shells may or may not have been obtained locally, depending on the availability of suitable shell in local streams or lakes and the social or economic value of the product. Modified Valves At least three shells from the Allen site have been modified. One is a right valve fragment of Uniomerus tetralasmus that has a worn and use-damaged ventral margin (Figure 4.3). This specimen was recovered from the Intermediate Zone (specimen 8377-48). It consists of the ventral third of the original valve. The umbonal region and the dorsal and posterior margins of the shell are missing, so it is not listed with the identifiable shells. In its present condition the artifact measures 57.4 mm long and 37.6 mm high. Use-wear extends along the entire length of the remaining intact portion of the ventral margin, a distance of about 51 mm. The modified edge is rounded, smoothed, and polished and has been worn back some distance from the original margin of the shell. The specimen also has about nine irregularly spaced grooves that run transversely across its worn edge. The grooves, most of which were smoothed over after they were formed, appear to be small conchoidal fractures that were initiated on the medial side of the shell margin. The wear and edge damage probably resulted from use of the artifact as a scraping tool on semiresistant material. The two remaining modified specimens are identifiable umbo fragments of U. tetralasmus that have been charred and blackened by fire. One of these is from the Intermediate Zone (specimen 9462-48); the other is from the stratum above OL 2 (specimen 9083-48). The observed incidence of charring (8.0 percent of the identifiable specimens) is about the same as the unusually high percentages of charred shells in fire pits (8.1 percent) and fire-cracked rock concentrations (8.8 percent) at the Widows Creek site, a large shell

55

midden in northeast Alabama where mussels were clearly consumed as a food resource (Warren 1975). Ten other specimens from the Allen site have darkened and discolored medial surfaces (Figure 4.2a, d, f, g), an unusual condition in archaeological samples in which shell color is generally white. The discoloration may be related to heating of the shells, or staining by naturally occurring pigments in the soil, or both. Discoloration affects only the inner nacreous layer of shell, not the outer prismatic layer. The color of most specimens is dull white (10YR8/2) on the medial surface. The discolored specimens have darker values, higher chromas, and somewhat redder hues than the others. They are very pale brown (10YR8/4, 10YR7/4) on the central portion of the shell and yellowish brown (10YR5/4), light brown (7.5YR6/4), or light reddish brown (5YR6/4) along the posterior and ventral margins. The color change may have been caused by heat. However, heat-discolored shells from the Widows Creek shell midden differ from the Allen specimens in that (1) they became gray, not yellow-red; (2) the discoloration was irregular and splotchy rather than patterned; and (3) both the nacreous and prismatic layers were affected, not just the nacreous layer (Warren 1975). Heat cannot be ruled out as an agent of discoloration of the Allen shells, but it seems likely that soil pigmentation was an important factor. Subsistence Potential Estimates of the prehistoric food value of freshwater mussels vary not just in relation to the amount of shell recovered from archaeological sites but also in relation to the species represented and their ages. Some species yield greater amounts of edible tissue than others, and the tissue mass of a mussel tends to increase in a predictable fashion as it grows older (Parmalee and Klippel 1974). Food-value estimates for the Allen site mussels are based on measurements of shell size for each species in the assemblage. Seven shells were complete enough to measure, including one or more specimens for each species represented (Table 4.4). The shell measurements were transformed using prediction formulas developed by Parmalee and Klippel (1974)

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Table 4.4: Measurements of Freshwater Mussel Shells from the Allen Site Taxon Lampsilis cardium Lampsilis siliquoidea Ligumia recta Ligumia recta Quadrula pustulosa Quadrula quadrula Uniomerus tetralasmus

Catalog Number

ML

MH

MB

AP-PA

HL-PL

VOL

9525-48 9539-48 1215-47 9564-48 9134-48 1215-47 9563-48

107.3 110.0 110.6 112.4 52.6 60.8 —

74.1 55.5 51.0 49.9 — ~46.0 ~48.5

20.8 18.0 15.1 14.9 — 12.6 13.9

56.6 58.5 59.2 — 29.9 34.6 50.6

60.9 42.6 37.4 37.8 — — 40.6

47 31 23 — — — —

Note: ML is maximum length (mm); MH is maximum height (mm); MB is maximum breadth (mm); AP-PA is anterior protractor muscle scar to posterior adductor muscle scar (mm); HL-PL is hinge line to pallial line (mm); VOL is volumetric capacity (ml).

or me (1997) to estimate the edible tissue weight of each specimen (Table 4.5). Logarithmic regressions based on maximum length were used to estimate meat weights for Quadrula pustulosa, Q. quadrula, and Lampsilis cardium; a logarithmic regression based on maximum height was used to obtain an estimate for Ligumia recta; and a linear regression based on the shell height of Strophitus undulatus (= rugosus) was used to obtain a proxy estimate for Uniomerus tetralasmus, which is very similar to S. undulatus in size and shape (Parmalee and Klippel 1974). A logarithmic regression based on shell volumetric capacity of multiple species was used to obtain an estimate for Lampsilis siliquoidea (Warren 1997). The tissue weight estimates for each species were multiplied by the minimum number of individuals in the assemblage to obtain estimates of the total amount of tissue represented (Table 4.5). Together, these estimates total 468 g of mussel tissue. Considered by stratum, the totals are as follows: Stratum OL 1, 82 g; Stratum IZ, 210 g; Stratum OL 2, 58 g; above Stratum OL 2, 88 g. Specimens lacking stratigraphic information total 211 g. In comparison with other faunal remains from the Allen site, freshwater mussels must have been a minor food resource. The estimated tissue weight of mussels is only a tiny fraction of the total amount of meat represented by bison, deer, and other vertebrates in the faunal collection (see chapter 12). The qualitative food value of the mussels was also low. Based

on a food-energy content of 0.675 kcal/g for mussel tissue (see Parmalee and Klippel 1974), the 468 g of edible tissue represented at Allen would have provided only about 316 kcal of food energy. This total represents only about 13 percent of the daily food-energy requirement of one human adult on a 2,400 kcal/day diet. Put another way, the Allen mussels would fulfill the standard energy requirements of a human adult for only about three hours. Assuming the Allen mussel shells are residues of consumption, mussels would have provided only a minor supplement to the Paleoindian diet. Discussion Two important questions about the Allen mussel assemblage have been raised but not yet answered. First, were the shells deposited by cultural or natural processes? And second, assuming the shells were deposited culturally, what was their primary functional role in the Paleoindian community? With regard to the first question, there is no doubt that the shells occur in archaeological deposits and are stratigraphically associated with extensive evidence of prehistoric human activity. However, the fact that the Allen site was located near a stream and was occupied only occasionally by people over a period of more than 3,000 calendar years suggests that materials could have appeared on the site by natural avenues of transport and deposition. As noted earlier, the uniform deposition rate of identifiable shell could be explained by

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

57

Table 4.5: Estimated Food Value of Freshwater Mussels from the Allen Site



Minimum Number of Individuals

Tissue per Individual (g)

Total Tissue (g)

Lampsilis cardium Lampsilis siliquoidea Ligumia recta Quadrula pustulosa Quadrula quadrula Uniomerus tetralasmus

1 2 1 1 2 9

76 34 38 11 15 27

76 67 38 11 30 245

Total

16

—

467

Taxon

such processes as flooding or nonhuman predation. On the other hand, the presence of one shell scraping tool and two charred valves indicates that at least three specimens in the assemblage were altered by human behavior. Other specimens are discolored, perhaps from cooking, although the darkening of the shells may instead be from natural groundwater pigmentation. Considering the mixed evidence it is difficult to answer this question with confidence. However, given the archaeological context of the shell and the occurrence of modified specimens, it seems reasonable to assume the shells were deposited by people. To answer the functional question, recall the diagnostic criteria introduced at the beginning of this section. The best criterion for inferring how mussels were used at a site may be the proportion of artifactually modified shell. This value should be relatively low in subsistence assemblages and higher in technological assemblages (Warren 1989). The Allen proportions are low. None of the identifiable shells from the site is worked, and only one of the unidentifiable specimens has been used as a tool (0.8 percent of total assemblage). These values are on par with artifact ratios at prehistoric shell middens, which generally fall well below 5 percent (Morrison 1942; Warren 1975; Winters 1969). Values above 10 percent are common in technological assemblages from the Great Plains, including proportions of 32 percent at the Woodruff Ossuary in north-central Kansas (Kivett 1953), 36 percent at the Hosterman

site in north-central South Dakota (Miller 1964), and 22 percent at the King Hill site in northwest Missouri (Warren 1991a). Consistent with the subsistence model are the charred and potentially heat-discolored shells from the Allen site, which may have been altered during food preparation. These data suggest that mussels were used primarily as a subsistence resource by occupants of the Allen site, although the minimal food value represented by the assemblage indicates that mussels were a minor dietary supplement. Zoogeography In the midcontinental United States, the diversity of freshwater mussel species tends to decrease westward from the Mississippi River toward the Rocky Mountains. Dozens of species live in the Central Plains, but here many of them are at the periphery of their western range. In Kansas, for example, Murray and Leonard (1962) plotted the historical distributions of 36 mussel species. All lived in the eastern half of the state, but only four extended into western Kansas. Natural limiting factors on mussel distribution in the Central Plains include unstable river substrates, relatively low precipitation and streamflow, and limited ranges of fish species that serve as hosts for mussel larvae (Bergman et al. 2000; Murray and Leonard 1962). All six mussel species represented at the Allen site have been documented historically in streams draining the eastern margin of the Central Plains. Figure 4.4 plots the western range limits of these

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Figure 4.4 Zoogeographic distributions of six mussel species represented at the Allen site (1. Ligumia recta, 2. Lampsilis cardium, 3. Lampsilis siliquoidea, 4. Quadrula pustulosa, 5. Quadrula quadrula, 6. Uniomerus tetralasmus). Allen is located within the historical ranges of two species (Q. quadrula, U. tetralasmus) but falls outside the ranges of four others (L. recta, L. cardium, L. siliquoidea, Q. pustulosa). Species distributions are based on historical collections of living, recent, or slightly weathered shells (Hoke 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 2004, 2005; Miller and Hibbard 1972; Murray and Leonard 1962; Scammon 1906).

species in Nebraska and Kansas based on the historical distributions of living, recent, or slightly weathered shells (Bergman et al. 2000; Hoke 1994, 1995, 1996, 1997, 2004, 2005; Miller and Hibbard 1972; Murray and Leonard 1962; Scammon 1906). Two of the six species—Quadrula quadrula and Uniomerus tetralasmus—have relatively extensive ranges. Both have been found living in Medicine Creek and in other tributaries of the Republican River in southwestern Nebraska. Medicine Creek is the westernmost biological record of Q. quadrula in the Republican River Basin. Uniomerus tetralasmus lives there and also occurs in two streams farther west (Red Willow Creek and Frenchman River; Hoke 1997). The Allen site is located within the

historical ranges of these two species, although it is clearly at or near their western range limits. The four remaining mussel species have been found living in eastern Nebraska and/or eastern Kansas but have not been documented historically in the Republican River Basin (Figure 4.4). The nearest historical source of three species—Lampsilis cardium, L. siliquoidea, and Quadrula pustulosa—is the Big Blue River system about 200 km east of the Allen site (Hoke 2004, 2005). The fourth species, Ligumia recta, was common historically in tributaries of the Osage and Arkansas rivers in southeastern Kansas. It has also been reported in the eastern Kansas River system (Call 1885; Scammon 1906), but biologists consider these

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59

Table 4.6: Species Composition of Freshwater Mussel Assemblages from Archaeological Sites in the Lower Medicine Creek Basin Taxon

25FT50 25FT18a 25FT13a 25FT14a 25FT16a 25FT17a 25FT22a 25FT28a 25FT30a 25FT35b 25FT36a 25FT39a 25FT70a (PI) (WD) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR) (UR)

Subfamily Anodontinae Anodontoides ferussacianus 0 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 1 Lasmigona complanata 0 5 9 2 3 26 1 2 1 1 1 1 Pyganodon grandis 0 4 6 0 1 18 0 0 0 0 0 0 Subfamily Ambleminae Quadrula pustulosa 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Quadrula quadrula 3 220 681 52 340 2,400 69 279 51 158 579 123 Quadrula sp. 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Tritogonia verrucosa 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Uniomerus tetralasmus 14 1 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 Subfamily Lampsilinae Lampsilis cardium 1 9 28 4 6 34 0 2 1 3 2 8 Lampsilis siliquoidea 3 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 Lampsilis teres 0 0 0 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 1 Leptodea fragilis 0 0 3 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 Ligumia recta 2 3 8 0 0 14 0 0 0 0 1 0 Potamilus alatus 0 0 0 0 1 1 0 0 0 0 0 0 Toxolasma parvus 0 0 0 0 0 0 1 0 0 0 0 1 Total

25

242

739

58

351 2,497

74

283

53

162

583

136

0 3 1 0 666 0 0 6 22 0 0 0 13 0 0 711

Note: PI is Paleoindian; WD is Woodland; UR is Upper Republican. a Data from Kivett and Metcalf 1997. b Data from Stansbery 1969.

early records uncertain because they are not vouchered by museum specimens. The nearest confirmed historical sources of L. recta are about 480 km southeast of the Allen site in the Marais des Cygnes and Elk rivers (Murray and Leonard 1962). Historical zoogeographic data indicate that four of the six mussel species represented in Paleoindian deposits at the Allen site were extirpated from the Republican River drainage. Extirpations of mollusk species are important because they may signify environmental change triggered by cultural or natural causes (Bogan 2006; Warren and Harrington 1998). However, the environmental significance of these extirpations is clouded by the fact that three of the four extirpated mussel species (Lampsilis cardium, L. siliquoidea, Ligumia recta) have been found at Late Holocene archaeological sites in the Medicine

Creek Valley (see Table 4.6). Quadrula pustulosa is the only extirpated species absent in the Late Holocene mussel samples. It is possible these data reflect not one but perhaps two episodes of mussel extirpation in Medicine Creek. Mussels were clearly present during the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene occupations of the Allen site, but some species may have disappeared during the warm, dry Hypsithermal climatic period of the middle Holocene (see Mandel 2006), when streamflow probably declined. This hypothesis is difficult to test in the absence of excavated Archaic sites in the Medicine Creek Valley. However, it is consistent with faunal remains from a Plains Archaic occupation at the Spring Creek site (25FT31) in the Red Willow Creek Valley about 35 km west of Medicine Creek. This occupation, dated at about 4500 cal B.C., yielded

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a well-preserved sample of animal bone, principally bison, but no mussel shell (Grange 1980). Mussels may have recolonized Medicine Creek during the cooler and moister Late Holocene, when stream discharge likely increased. Thirteen mussel species are represented at Woodland and Upper Republican sites near the creek (Table 4.6). Most of these were extirpated following the exodus of Upper Republican people from the valley, although the timing of this extirpation and its causes are unclear. Compositional Change The Allen site mussel assemblage is dominated by one species, Uniomerus tetralasmus. Based on available stratigraphic data, no major changes in species composition occurred during the Late Pleistocene or Early Holocene occupations of the site. The purpose of this section is to compare the Allen assemblage with mussel samples from more recent occupations in the Lower Medicine Creek Basin to see if species composition remained stable throughout the Holocene. Comparative data are available on the species compositions of 12 mussel shell assemblages from archaeological sites in the Lower Medicine Creek Basin (Figure 4.1; Table 4.6). Eleven of the samples were obtained in the late 1940s by the Nebraska State Historical Society and the Smithsonian Institution, which conducted salvage excavations in the area during the construction of the Medicine Creek Dam (Kivett 1949; Kivett and Metcalf 1997; Roper 2002). The twelfth site, Mowry Bluff (25FT35), was excavated in 1967 by the University of Missouri (Wood 1969). The sites include one small Plains Woodland tradition village (25FT18) affiliated with the Keith focus. This site has been radiocarbon dated between cal A.D. 400 and 1000 (see Wedel 1986). The 11 remaining sites (25FT13, 25FT14, 25FT16, 25FT17, 25FT22, 25FT28, 25FT30, 25FT35, 25FT36, 25FT39, 25FT70) are farmsteads or small villages associated with the Upper Republican phase of the Central Plains. Based on a recent analysis of Upper Republican radiocarbon dates from sites in southern Nebraska, Blakeslee (1997, 2002) concludes that the phase began about cal A.D. 1170 and ended about cal A.D. 1300. Most of the dates from the

Medicine Creek locality suggest a 70-year occupation span between cal A.D. 1220 and 1290 (Blakeslee 1997). Mussel shell was common at all of the sites, especially the Upper Republican occupations. In a description of the storage or refuse pits that commonly occurred beneath house floors in these sites, Kivett noted that “the most common type of refuse filling many of these pits at Medicine Creek was mussel shells which occurred in large quantities throughout the sites” (1949:279). Shell artifacts were rare (Kivett 1949), and most of the mussels were probably consumed as a food resource. With one exception, all of the mussel assemblages from these sites were identified in 1949 by J. P. E. Morrison and Harald A. Rehder of the U.S. National Museum. The Morrison and Rehder identifications were compiled by Kivett and Metcalf (1997). The assemblage from the Mowry Bluff site (25FT35) was identified by Stansbery (1969). Fourteen species are represented in the Paleoindian, Woodland, and Upper Republican assemblages from Medicine Creek (Table 4.6). One species, Quadrula pustulosa, occurs only at the Allen site. Eight other species occur in the Woodland or Upper Republican assemblages but are absent at Allen, possibly because of sampling bias. Four species (Quadrula quadrula, Uniomerus tetralasmus, Lampsilis cardium, and Ligumia recta) are associated with all three cultural periods. The relative abundances of species in the Woodland and Upper Republican assemblages are remarkably similar to one another. All of these assemblages are dominated by Q. quadrula, which accounts for 90.9 percent of the total number of identified specimens from the Woodland site and 94.9±3.3 percent of specimens from the Upper Republican sites. The second most abundant species is L. cardium, which represents 3.7 percent of the Woodland sample and 2.5±2.2 percent of the Upper Republican samples. Only one other species, Lasmigona complanata, accounts for more than 1 percent of the specimens in each of these samples. In comparison, the Allen assemblage is quite different from the Woodland and Upper Republican assemblages (Figure 4.5). The dominant species at Allen, U. tetralasmus, decreases through time and is relatively rare in the Late Holocene samples. All of

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

Figure 4.5 Long-term decline of the pondhorn mussel (Uniomerus tetralasmus) and rise of the mapleleaf mussel (Quadrula quadrula) in archaeological assemblages from the Medicine Creek Dam locality.

the subdominant species at Allen decrease as well. In contrast, there is a dramatic increase through time in the relative abundance of Q. quadrula. Chi-square analysis indicates that this change is statistically significant, despite the small size of the mussel assemblage from Allen. The analysis is based on a 2 × 3 contingency table of Q. quadrula versus all other taxa combined across the three cultural periods. The test results indicate there is less than one chance in a thousand that the observed differences could have arisen by chance alone (χ2 = 378.5; df = 2; p < .001). Clearly, a significant change occurred in the species composition of Medicine Creek mussel assemblages from Late Pleistocene to Late Holocene times. Paleoenvironmental Model Many species of freshwater mussel have rather specific habitat preferences. Some are adapted to the shallow, swiftly flowing water of creek riffles, whereas others are more common in the quiet, muddy bottoms of backwater lakes. Matteson (1958, 1960) has shown that by studying the habitat preferences of each species in an archaeological mussel assemblage, it is possible to reconstruct certain environmental characteristics of the body of water from which the mussels were originally collected.

61

More recently, I (1991a) have developed a quantitative approach to the use of mussel assemblages for paleoenvironmetal reconstruction. This approach is based on a weighting function that rescales the compositional data for an assemblage to reflect the environmental tolerances of the assemblage as a whole across each of four variables: water-body type, water depth, current velocity, and substrate composition. (For a list of species habitat weights and a description of the technique, see Warren 1991a.) Graphs of the habitat scores of the Allen assemblage are plotted in Figure 4.6. The scores are based on the relative abundance of species (percent number of identified specimens) rather than qualitative presence/ absence data (percent taxa). For comparative purposes, scores are also plotted for Lutz Bluff Shelter (23SR136), a small Late Woodland rock shelter occupation near the Sac River in southwest Missouri, and the Miller site (14GE21), a Smoky Hill phase occupation on a creek near the Republican River in northeast Kansas (see Warren 1991a). The water-body plot (Figure 4.6a) indicates that the primary source for the Allen site mussels was a small creek or pond environment. However, the pattern is unusual in that it also shows a secondary mode on medium-sized rivers. This pattern reflects a basic dichotomy in the Allen assemblage between (1) Uniomerus tetralasmus, a species that is rare outside of small creeks and ponds, and (2) such species as Quadrula pustulosa, Quadrula quadrula, Lampsilis cardium, and Ligumia recta, which are relatively rare in creeks and ponds and generally indicate a large creek or river environment. Other variables are indicative of primarily shallow water (Figure 4.6b), no current (Figure 4.6c), and a substrate composed primarily of mud (Figure 4.6d). However, there is also a secondary mode on sand and gravel-sand in the graph of substrate composition, indicating that both muddy and sandy to gravelly substrates were exploited. The bimodal patterns for water-body type and substrate composition may be related. Uniomerus tetralasmus prefers to live in small creeks or ponds with standing water and muddy substrates, whereas most

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Figure 4.6 Habitat scores of freshwater mussel assemblages from three archaeological sites in the Central Plains, including the Allen site (25FT50), Lutz Bluff Shelter (23SR136), and the Miller site (14GE21). The variables are (a) water-body type, (b) water depth, (c) current velocity, and (d) substrate composition.

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

of the other taxa tend to prefer larger streams with flowing water and coarser substrates. These two modes are incompatible with the habitats one would expect to occur in a single body of water. It is more likely that they represent collections of mussels from both mudbottomed backwater ponds or sloughs and a perennial flowing stream with a sandy to gravelly substrate. Although these two habitats are distinctive, they could have coexisted in the Medicine Creek floodplain. The model proposed here is that Medicine Creek was a coarse-bottomed perennial stream that was flanked by muddy backwater ponds or sloughs during Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene times. Uniomerus tetralasmus was collected from the backwaters, and most other species came from the main channel of Medicine Creek. The paleoenvironmental implications of the shift from U. tetralasmus to Q. quadrula as the predominant species in mussel assemblages along Medicine Creek are somewhat unclear. Quadrula quadrula is generally characterized as a species adapted to large or mediumsized rivers, where it lives in flowing or standing water and sandy or muddy substrates (see Warren 1991a). However, its phenomenal abundance in Late Holocene mussel assemblages along Medicine Creek and other tributaries of the Republican River indicate that it once dominated the mussel communities of a number of relatively small streams in the Central Plains. Although its abundance in these streams is poorly understood, the fact remains that Q. quadrula is rare in natural ponds or lakes and prefers sandy or muddy substrates. Assuming that all existing aquatic habitats were exploited for mussels, the abundance of Q. quadrula at Woodland and Upper Republican archaeological sites suggests that backwater ponds had declined or disappeared along Medicine Creek by Late Holocene times. Also, the substrate composition of the channel may have shifted from gravel/sand to sand/mud. Geomorphic Evolution I propose that changes in the species composition of prehistoric mussel assemblages along Medicine Creek reflect hydrologic and geomorphic changes in the regimen of the Medicine Creek channel. If the

63

paleoenvironmental model developed on the basis of these compositional changes is valid (see above), the model should be consistent with our knowledge of the late Quaternary geological history of the area. The purpose of this section is to briefly review this history and search for connections between mussels and geomorphology. The geology of Medicine Creek has been the subject of several major investigations during the past 40 years, including (1) an interdisciplinary study directed by C. Bertrand Schultz that focused on the archaeology, paleontology, and geomorphology of the Medicine Creek Dam area (Davis 1962; Davis and Schultz 1952; Lueninghoener 1949; Schultz et al. 1951); (2) a comprehensive geomorphic study by J. C. Brice (1966) that attempted to explain the unusually high modern rates of gully erosion in the Medicine Creek Basin; and (3) David May’s reanalysis of the alluvial stratigraphy and valley geomorphology associated with Paleoindian occupations at the Allen, Lime Creek, and Red Smoke sites (see chapter 3). The Medicine Creek Valley is incised into two bedrock formations, both of which outcrop in the vicinity of the Allen site. The Niobrara Formation (Cretaceous period) consists of jasper-bearing limestones interbedded with thin layers of volcanic ash. The Ogallala Formation (Pliocene epoch) consists of clays, silts, sands, gravels, and volcanic ash deposits that are cemented with varying amounts of carbonate (Brice 1966). In the uplands these materials are capped by thick deposits of Pleistocene loess. There are two major loess deposits in the valley, Loveland Loess and Peoria Loess, which have been correlated with the Illinoian and Wisconsinan glaciations, respectively. The Peoria Loess was deposited in central and western Nebraska from about 23,000 to 9500 cal B.C. and averages about 15 m thick in the Medicine Creek Basin (cf. chapter 3; Brice 1966; Martin 1990). Brice (1966) has developed a model of the terminal Pleistocene and Holocene evolution of the Medicine Creek landscape (Figure 4.7). The sequence of events seems to be well documented, although May (chapter 3) has revised Brice’s tentative chronology with new temporal data.

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Figure 4.7 Model of Late Pleistocene and Holocene landscape history of the Medicine Creek Valley (after Brice 1966). The panels show (a) a broad, gently sloping valley during the deposition of Peoria Loess (~23,000–15,800 cal. B.C.); (b) incision and extension of a deep valley into Peoria Loess and the underlying Ogallala Formation bedrock (15,800– 11,000 cal. B.C.), which was followed by an episode of relative floodplain stability (11,000–9500 cal. B.C.); (c) redeposition of upland loess during the aggradation of Stockville terrace deposits (9500–3800 cal. B.C.); and (d) several episodes of erosion and deposition that defined the Stockville and Mousel terraces (<3800 cal. B.C.). The Allen site was occupied late in the second stage (b) and early in the third stage (c).

According to Brice’s model, broad, gently sloping valleys predominated in the Medicine Creek Basin at about 15,800 cal B.C., several thousand years before the deposition of Peoria Loess ended (Figure 4.7a). The area then experienced several episodes of widespread erosion that incised the valley to bedrock and extended the drainage network to its present extent (Figure 4.7b). The erosion episodes are not well dated, but they probably occurred after 15,800 cal B.C. and before 11,000 cal B.C. (May 1991; cf. Brice 1966). The periods of erosion were followed by a relatively stable episode of slow floodplain deposition that lasted from

about 11,000 to 9500 cal B.C. During this time, a thick zone of organic-rich sediments was deposited near Medicine Creek at the upper end of what is now Harry Strunk Lake (see chapter 3). The initial occupation at the Allen site (OL 1) occurred during this period of relative stability (ca. 10,700–10,400 cal B.C.). From about 9500 to 3800 cal B.C. the valley filled with thick deposits of calcareous silt, which make up the fill 2a sediments beneath the Stockville Terrace (Figure 4.7c). Most of this silt is redeposited Peoria Loess that was derived from the grading of upland landforms and the wind or water transport of upland

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

Table 4.7: Geomorphic Model of Hydrological Changes in the Medicine Creek Floodplain Variable

Late Pleistocene– Early Holocene (10,700–7600 cal. B.C.)

Historic

Floodplain elevation

Low

Low

Effective water table

High

Low

Stream discharge

High?

Low?

Stream activity Stable to slow Channel incision floodplain and floodplain deposition deposition Channel pattern Meandering? Relatively straight Channel width/ depth ratio Valley-floor materials

Low?

High

Clay, silt, sand, and gravel

Silt

Note: Data from Brice 1966 and May 1991.

sediment. The second major occupation at the Allen site (OL 2) took place during the early stages of this phase of sedimentation (ca. 7600 cal B.C.), and the archaeological remains were buried in deposits of the Stockville Terrace. Following the accumulation of Stockville Terrace deposits there were several major episodes of incision and deposition in the Medicine Creek Valley (Figure 4.7d). The erosion episode that defined the Stockville Terrace occurred between about 3800 and 2500 cal B.C. (see chapter 3). Incision also occurred downstream along the Republican River at about that time (3100–2100 cal B.C.; Martin 1990). The episode of erosion was followed by an accumulation of alluvial silt, the surface of which has been named the Mousel terrace. Mousel terrace sediments are not well dated, but equivalent deposits accumulated downstream in the Republican River Valley between about 2100 cal B.C. and cal A.D. 450 (C. W. Martin, personal communication, 1991). The episode of incision that created the Mousel terrace probably occurred between about cal A.D. 800 and 1150 (see chapter 3). According to Brice (1966), the past 800 years have been a time of periodic alluviation of the valley

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Table 4.8: Zooarchaeological Models of Hydrological Changes in the Medicine Creek Floodplain Variable

Late Pleistocene– Early Holocene Late Holocene (10,700–7600 cal. B.C.) (cal. A.D. 400–1300) Historic

Water-body type Perennial Perennial stream and stream backwater ponds Stream discharge High? Low? Substrate composition: Stream channel Gravel and/ Sand or sand and/or mud Backwater ponds Mud —

Perennial stream 1.7 m3/sec

80% sand —

Note: Prehistoric models are based on the environmental implications of freshwater mussel shells from Pleistocene– Holocene occupations at the Allen site and Late Holocene occupations at Woodland and Upper Republican sites in the Medicine Creek Valley. Historic data from Brice 1966.

floor and localized incision of the Medicine Creek channel. Alluvium has also been deposited historically (Brice 1966). On the basis of Brice’s model and recent work in the region by May (chapter 3), we can now postulate several key morphological characteristics of the Medicine Creek channel and floodplain and evaluate them in light of mussel paleoecology (Tables 4.7–4.8). The geomorphic model suggests that during the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene, when the Allen site was being occupied and the process of valley alluviation had just begun, the elevations of both the Medicine Creek channel and its floodplain were relatively low (Figure 4.7b; Table 4.7). This, in combination with climatic conditions that were probably cooler and moister than those of today (see chapters 6–7), presumably created a relatively high water table and high stream discharge. May (chapter 3) indicates that as Medicine Creek incised into older valley fills, its channel was narrow and deep and probably had a meandering pattern. Although the composition of channel materials is unknown, the fact that the sandy and gravelly Ogallala Formation made up much of the valley floor during Late Pleistocene times indicates that channel

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sediments in at least some reaches of the creek may have been relatively coarse. The zooarchaeological model of Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene ecological conditions (Table 4.8) is consistent with the geomorphic model and amplifies it to some extent. Mussels from the Allen site indicate there were two types of aquatic environments in the Medicine Creek floodplain: a perennial stream and backwater ponds. The backwaters may have consisted of mud-bottomed oxbow lakes, which are common in the floodplains of meandering streams. The presence of typical river species such as Quadrula pustulosa and Ligumia recta may indicate a relatively high stream discharge. Also, stream mussels from the site indicate that the substrate of the channel was locally composed of gravel/sand. It is difficult to develop a geomorphological model for the Late Holocene because little is known about the landform characteristics of the Medicine Creek floodplain at the time of the Woodland and Upper Republican occupations of the area. In lieu of geological data, Table 4.7 lists historical information for comparison with the Late Pleistocene/Early Holocene model. It should be cautioned, however, that the historical characteristics of Medicine Creek may not be an appropriate analogue for its characteristics during prehistoric Late Holocene times. Today, the Medicine Creek floodplain is near the elevation of the Early Holocene floodplain, but the drier modern climatic conditions have probably lowered the effective water table (Table 4.7). Stream discharge may also have decreased, but this has not been demonstrated geologically. Modern stream activity involves localized channel incision and silt deposition on the Medicine Creek floodplain (Brice 1966). Much of this silt is being derived from active gully erosion in tributary valleys, which Brice (1966) attributes to historical land-use practices. Medicine Creek may have been more stable during Late Holocene prehistory, when there were several widespread episodes of paleosol development and floodplain stability in the Central Plains (Johnson and Martin 1987; Martin 1990). As noted earlier, the modern channel of Medicine Creek is relatively straight and has a broad, shallow cross

section. These attributes are characteristic of streams whose channels are transitional between meandering and braided patterns (see Schumm and Brakenridge 1987). Finally, the composition of valley floor materials is primarily silt, which may have led to a decrease in the size of channel sediments; today, bed materials in Medicine Creek are predominantly sand. The Late Holocene zooarchaeological model (Table 4.8) indicates that Medicine Creek had become a perennial stream with few or no backwater ponds by about cal A.D. 400. The decline or disappearance of several mussel species (Q. pustulosa, L. recta, and possibly U. tetralasmus) may indicate a decrease in the discharge of Medicine Creek, although other ecological factors could have influenced these changes. The mussels also suggest a shift toward finer bed materials composed primarily of sand and mud. Finally, the large mussel samples from Woodland and Upper Republican sites in the area may indicate that the Medicine Creek channel was relatively stable when the sites were occupied. Shifting bottoms of sand or silt are intolerable to all mussels, and they thrive only in relatively stable areas (Baker 1928; Stern 1983). In general, the geomorphological and zooarchaeological models both indicate that the Medicine Creek Valley underwent a major transition from Late Pleistocene to Late Holocene times (Tables 4.7–4.8). The floodplain was stable to slowly aggrading during the Late Pleistocene, when the Allen site was first occupied. The creek at that time apparently was a relatively high-discharge stream with a meandering, coarsebedded channel and muddy backwater ponds. During the Late Holocene, when the Woodland and Upper Republican villages were occupied, the creek was again a perennial stream but may have had a lower discharge. Channel materials had apparently become finer, and backwater ponds had declined or disappeared. These postulated changes are generally consistent with recent regional surveys of Holocene alluvial chronologies in the Central Plains and eastern United States (Johnson and Logan 1990; Johnson and Martin 1987; Knox 1983; Schumm and Brakenridge 1987). Several studies have documented floodplain stability and soil development from about 11,500 to 9500 cal B.C. in

Cultural and Paleoenvironmental Implications of Freshwater Mussels /

the Republican and Kansas River basins (Johnson and Martin 1987; Martin 1990). According to Knox (1983), this episode was followed by a widespread Early Holocene period of floodplain alluviation in which valleys ranging from the Desert Southwest to the Eastern Woodlands experienced rapid aggradation from about 9500 to 7000 cal B.C. (cf. Delcourt 1985). As was the case in the Medicine Creek Valley, the source material for much of this sediment appears to have been Pleistocene loess that was eroded and redeposited from regional hillslopes and uplands because of altered climate and vegetation (Knox 1983; Schumm and Brakenridge 1987). In the Great Plains and Midwest, this episode was followed by a brief period of modest incision and then slow alluviation until about 4900 cal B.C. Knox (1983) characterizes the last 2,000 years as a time of relative stability in the Plains, although several episodes of alluviation and entrenchment have been documented for this period in Kansas and Nebraska (Johnson and Martin 1987; Martin 1990; May 1989). Discussion and Conclusions The earliest evidence of freshwater mussel utilization in eastern North America is generally associated with late Paleoindian and Early Archaic occupations dating between 9500 and 7000 cal B.C. Mussel-bearing Paleoindian occupations include several cultural strata at the Levi Shelter site in central Texas that may be as old as 9500 cal B.C. (Alexander 1963) and a Frederickcomplex occupation at the Hell Gap site in Wyoming that dates to about 7500–7000 cal B.C. (Irwin-Williams et al. 1973). Mussel shell has also been recovered from a number of stratified Early Archaic occupations in western and central Missouri (Klippel 1971; Klippel et al. 1978), western Illinois (Fowler 1959; Styles 1986; Styles et al. 1983), and northeast Alabama (Clench 1974). In all of these examples, mussels appear to have served as a relatively minor food resource in subsistence economies dominated by the hunting of such high-yield resources as bison or deer. The mussel collection from the Allen site, which represents one of the oldest culturally derived mussel assemblages in North America, is entirely consistent with this pattern. Although it is likely that mussels

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were collected primarily as a food resource throughout the sequence of occupations at the site, the nutritional role of mussel tissue was dwarfed by that of bison and other large mammals. A secondary technological role for mussels in late Paleoindian societies is indicated by one shell scraping tool in the Allen assemblage. The dietary importance of mussels increased in many parts of eastern North America during Middle and Late Holocene times, after about 7000 cal B.C., when thick shell middens began to accumulate along such streams as the Green, Cumberland, Tennessee, and Savannah rivers in the southeastern United States (Bullen and Greene 1970; Marquardt and Watson 1983; Morrison 1942; Warren 1975). Also, dense lenses of shell were deposited at residential sites and workstations near many other interior and coastal streams (Parmalee 1969; Theler 1987), including sites in the Central Plains (Kivett 1962; Krause 1970). This increase in the nutritional role of mussels may have occurred because of cultural factors, environmental factors, or both. The cultural model would suggest that because of a widespread imbalance between human populations and their food resources, which could have been caused either by human population growth or a decline in the abundance of traditional resources, there may have been reductions in the sizes of the economic territories of human societies. This, in turn, could have caused an expansion of the breadth or diversity of low-yield resources in the diet (see Binford 1983; Cohen 1977), including freshwater mussels (Christenson 1986; Parmalee and Klippel 1974). In other words, mussel communities were a stable and readily accessible resource throughout the Holocene, on at least a seasonal basis, but they were not intensively exploited by prehistoric societies until the breadth of the human diet expanded in response to economic need. The environmental model, on the other hand, would suggest that mid-Holocene climatic and geomorphic changes favorable to the reproduction and development of mussel communities may have caused an increase in the abundance or accessibility of mussels in large rivers. The newly enhanced or enlarged resource would have been exploited opportunistically

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by local foragers who occupied the valleys of those streams (Smith 1986). In other words, mussels were not exploited intensively prior to 7000 cal B.C. because mussel communities were unstable during the Early Holocene and their populations could not have sustained intensive human predation until hydrologic and geomorphic conditions were suitable. Archaeologists have not yet resolved the dichotomy between these two models. However, the present study indicates it may be possible to answer this question by examining compositional change in archaeological mussel assemblages in conjunction with geological studies of long-term variation in the hydrological and sedimentological characteristics of stream channels. The species compositions of mussel assemblages changed significantly in the Medicine Creek locality, probably in response to changes in aquatic environments that were ultimately caused by climatic fluctuations and landscape evolution.

Bogan (1990) has suggested that mussel communities were stable during the past 7,000 years in the Mississippi River Basin south of the Pleistocene glacial maximum. However, this proposition seems questionable in light of the compositional changes observed in the Medicine Creek Valley, which is located well beyond the glacial border, and the fact that mussels are sensitive to environmental change. Knox’s (1983) survey of the dynamic geomorphological histories of river systems indicates that comparable changes may have occurred in other sections of the eastern United States in response to changing Holocene environments. If we are to document and explain changes in the prehistoric utilization of mussels and other aquatic resources, it will be necessary to use an interdisciplinary approach that integrates the archaeological, biological, and geological aspects of the problem. The cultural and paleoenvironmental implications of mussel remains from the Allen site are a promising step in that direction.

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Chapter 5

Growth Increment Analysis of Freshwater Mussel Shell from the

Allen Site James C. Chatters

Mollusk shells from archaeological contexts offer a wealth of paleoenvironmental and cultural information. As Warren (chapter 4) demonstrates, the taxonomic composition of archaeological shell assemblages can inform on the paleohydrology of a region’s stream systems as an adjunct to geomorphologic analysis or as primary data (see also Chatters and Hoover 1992; Warren 1991a). In addition, when one has a quantitative understanding of the environmental constraints on a species’ growth, the growth rates of past populations can be used as proxy indicators for quantitative characteristics of past stream systems, particularly temperature (Chatters et al. 1995; Jones 1980). In the cultural dimension, variations in the age structure of exploited mussel populations indicate increases or decreases in resource stress (Chatters 1987b; Swadling 1976). Finally, and of particular importance to Paleoindian studies, mollusk shells can provide surprisingly precise data on the seasonality of site habitation (e.g., Monks 1981). The last three data categories are obtained by analysis of periodic growth increments, which are laid down in shell much as they are in trees. Freshwater mussel shells are rare in sites from the Paleoindian era, although they are a common component of Archaic and Woodland assemblages. During the 1947 and 1948 excavations of the Allen site, a Paleoindian encampment on Medicine Creek in southwestern Nebraska, excavators recovered a small number of freshwater mussel shells along with the mammalian remains more typically found in such sites. As part of the reanalysis of the Allen site artifacts, I measured growth increments in all shells suitable for

that purpose, providing data on site seasonality and baseline information on growth rates and ages for five species. This study marks the first application of a new method for growth increment measurement and seasonality analysis to mussel genera from the Mississippi River Basin. It is also the first study to extract seasonality from mollusk remains found in a Paleoindian site. Although the methods I apply here have provided good results elsewhere, with other species (e.g., Chatters 1986, 1987b, 1997; Eugster 1990), this study should be considered experimental. The Specimens The entire collection of 126 fragments of shell was submitted to me for analysis. Of that number, Warren (chapter 4) has identified 25 at least to genus and 24 also to species. Identified specimens are predominantly Uniomerus tetralasmus (pondhorn), with small numbers of Quadurla quadrula (mapleleaf), Quadrula pustulosa (pimpleback), Lampsilis siliquoidea (fatmucket), Lampsilis cardium (plain pocketbook), and Ligumia recta (black sandshell). The specimens are in excellent condition, although many are broken and a few have been treated with Alvar. The Alvar covers only the surfaces of the shells and does not coat the hinge area needed for growth increment analysis. Warren has determined that the collection represents primarily food refuse, making it suitable for seasonality analysis. Technological shell might be curated for long periods, indicating the time of its collection but not necessarily the time of site occupancy.

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Methods Growth increment measurement and quantification are the basis of all assessments of seasonality, age, and growth rate in bivalves. A method that reads increments from the shell hinge, without damaging the specimen, was used in the analysis of the Allen site assemblage. All specimens were inspected, and 15 whole shells and fragments were found to be suitable for analysis. I conducted the analysis blind to avoid inserting any unconscious bias into the increment analysis process. The shell assemblage and Warren’s (chapter 4) report on the taxonomic analysis arrived several weeks before I received any other information about the site. The shells were in plastic bags, labeled only with the site and catalog numbers. I completed the analysis before receiving Bamforth’s 1990 preliminary report and the paleoecological analyses by Zalucha (chapter 7) and Cummings (chapter 6). Growth Increment Measurement Analyses of season at death and exploitation intensity for bivalves are based on observations of periodic growth increments caused by the seasonal reduction or cessation of growth (Lutz and Rhoads 1980). Four methods of growth increment quantification and measurement are widely used by archaeologists and malacologists (Claassen 1986; Monks 1981; Neves and Moyer 1988). These are the shell annulus method and the associated “candling” technique, thick sectioning, acetate peels, and thin sectioning. Each method has its advantages and limitations, but none is fully suitable for the typically poor condition of archaeological specimens or for the large numbers of specimens needed to accurately estimate seasonality in inland sites (Chatters 1997; Neves and Moyer 1988). All but the shell annulus method are destructive of the specimens they study, a characteristic that made them undesirable for studying the small collection from the Allen site. The technique used here measures growth increments on a part of the shell hinge, without damaging the specimen. Unionid bivalve mollusks have a single hinge ligament that grows posteriorly from the umbo or beak. The inner portion of the ligament, called the resilium, records the growth of the organism

Figure 5.1 Posterior end of the resilial tuberosity of specimen 1215-47, Quadrula quadrula, magnified to approximately 40×. Growth rests dividing annual increments are the dark lines curving from upper left to lower right. Measurement is from the anterior (left) edge of each line to the interior edge of the next line in an anterior direction. This specimen has an index of 51.2.

in a series of increments that accrue posteriorly as the shell grows. These increments can be exposed by sagittally sectioning the ligament and have been used by some malacologists for determining the age of freshwater mussels (Hendelberg 1960). By taking and sectioning monthly control samples of two Unionacean mussels (Anodonta beringiana and Margaritifera falcata), I have demonstrated that one growth increment is deposited each year and that the narrow band dividing increments is deposited in April and May (Chatters 1987b, 1997). The resilium attaches to the shell on an elongated, raised, flat-topped ridge that I have named the resilial tuberosity (Figure 5.1). Growth increments visible in the resilium continue into the shell along this surface. Because the growth is extended along the resilial tuberosity, growth increments are much wider than they are in cross section near the hinge (from 10 mm to 0.1 mm depending on age and species). This is particularly true of elongated taxa, such as Lampsilis, Ligumia, and Uniomerus. The growth increments are readily distinguishable and easily measured under magnification. Archaeological specimens are prepared by scraping the residue of the resilium, if any, from the tuberosity surface and then treating the area with dilute

Growth Increment Analysis of Freshwater Mussel Shell /

hydrochloric acid on a cotton swab to remove the resultant carbonate dust and accentuate shell colors. Figure 5.1 illustrates the growth increments distinguishable on a specimen from the Allen site. Increments are measured along the long axis of the tuberosity using a microscope, movable stage, and electronic measuring device. A micrometer eyepiece can be used in place of the movable stage and electronics but is less accurate and much more time consuming. In the case of the Allen site, I used a Unislide movable stage made by VELMEX of East Bloomfield, New York; a Mini-scale magnetic encoder made by Acu-Rite of Jamestown, New York; and a Meiji variable magnification binocular microscope. Measurements were made to the hundredth millimeter; the equipment has a calibrated precision of 1.2 µ. Magnification was 7× to 45×, the greater magnification sometimes being required for closely spaced increments on older individuals or to clarify the position of growth-rest lines. Season at Death Season at death is based on the percentage of new growth that the last growth increment represents of a base value (expected full growth for the year). This number is the growth index. Base values are ordinarily the previous growth year or the mean of some number of previous growth years. Because of the wide range of species and ages in this collection, I used a one-year basis for all specimens. To determine season at death, summaries of growth indices for the site and stratigraphic units within the site were compared against summaries for control samples of known collection date. I used two methods, mean index and graphic, to compare the archaeological samples with controls, in part as a cross-reference and in part as a check on the consistency of the method. The mean index method calculates the mean and standard deviation of growth indices in a sample and compares the result with the annual growth pattern of controls (Figure 5.2). The graphic method compares a line graph of growth indices from archaeological samples, grouped in units of 10 (0 to 10, 10.1 to 20, etc.), with graphs for control samples or combinations of control samples. Growth indices greater than 100 are given a value of 100.

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Figure 5.2 Annual growth pattern of freshwater mussels. The three lines represent the mean and standard deviation of control data for Margaritifera falcata. Single points and error bars denote control points for Anodonta beringiana and Amblema plicata. The large circle is the mean growth index for the mussels from the Allen site. Numbers on the y-axis mark the beginning of months; no. 2 is February.

The collection month of the closest match from the control group is interpreted as the time of death for the archaeological sample. Controls are based on 13 samples of Margaritifera falcata from Washington, Oregon, Idaho, and Northern California (Chatters 1990) and three samples of Anodonta beringiana from eastern Washington (Chatters 1997). Systematic collection of controls from species found east of the Rocky Mountains is under way, but results are not yet available. Monthly samples of 8 to 20 M. falcata were taken from the Yakima River, Washington, in March through September and in November 1985. Each sample was taken approximately midmonth. Additional samples were obtained in subsequent years from the Williamson River, Oregon; Pit River, California; Salmon River, Idaho; Polecat Creek, Wyoming; and Swamp Creek, King County, Washington. A. beringiana were collected on March 13, 1985 (4 specimens), August 7, 1992 (9), and June 2, 1992, (9) from sites in eastern Washington. Figure 5.2 shows the growth curve for the Yakima River M. falcata and the data points and standard errors for A. beringiana samples. In every case, the

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A. beringiana samples do not deviate significantly from the M. falcata curve. It could be argued that the growth patterns of bivalves from northwestern states might not be appropriate for assessing the seasonality of 10,000-year-old specimens from Nebraska. Although such an assertion could have some validity, data thus far available from elsewhere in North America indicate that the seasonal growth pattern found in the northwest may be generally applicable throughout the temperate zone. A sample of six Amblema plicata that I obtained from Robert Warren of the Illinois State Museum and measured without knowing the time of death had a mean growth index of 3.8±5.0. This closely resembles the value of 3.6±2.7 obtained for Yakima River M. falcata on May 16, 1985 (Figure 5.2). The line graph for this sample is most similar to that of the M. falcata collected on April 6, 1985. The actual collection date of the A. plicata, which had been obtained from Mason County, Illinois (40.05ºN latitude), was April 22, 1974. Other evidence comes from the thin sectioning of several Unionid species by Neves and Moyer (1988), who note that a new growth increment had begun to appear in some individuals by May in western Virginia and had formed in all sampled individuals by June. This is almost identical with the data on M. falcata and A. beringiana. From this evidence it is safe to conclude that the control data thus far available may be applied to the Allen site samples with some confidence. Nonetheless, to be conservative, I assume an error factor of plus or minus one month. Age Age is determined using the standard method described by Hendelberg (1960). The number of extant growth increments is counted and added to an estimate of missing early growth increments. To obtain this estimate, one first creates an early growth curve for a population by measuring and averaging resilial tuberosity length for each year of age in a sample of intact young specimens. For older specimens, which have lost the early growth increments through erosion, the distance from the earliest discernible increment to the umbo is measured and the number

of missing years is determined by reference to the growth curve. In this case, most specimens either exhibited all increments or were missing only the first increment (based on the width of subsequent increments). Therefore, I believe all age estimates are accurate to within one year. Growth Rate Each species of freshwater mussel has a range of environmental conditions under which it can grow and compete successfully with other species (e.g., Bauer et al. 1991; Burky 1983). Although the general habitat preferences for the five species in this analysis are known (Warren 1991b), environmental controls on their growth have not yet been quantified. Growth rate is calculated here for two reasons. First, it is used to investigate whether there were any changes in environmental conditions during occupancy of the site, although the magnitude and even direction of such change cannot yet be known. Second, it provides data that can be compared with growth rates for the same species at later times in prehistory or used to calculate variables of water quality for the Early Holocene once quantitative controls on growth are known for one or more of the taxa (e.g., Chatters et al. 1995). The growth curve of Unionid bivalves is linear for the first few years of growth, reaches an asymptote, and then declines rapidly to nearly uniform annual growth in later years. In this analysis I calculate growth rate as the slope of the linear phase of growth. The origin point of growth is assumed to be the umbo; length measurements refer to the distance from the umbo to the posterior end of the resilial tuberosity for each growth year. Selection of Suitable Specimens Each of the three analyses—seasonality, age, and growth rate—has its own minimum requirements for specimen quality. Seasonality requires only that the posterior end of the resilial tuberosity be intact and that at least two full growth increments are distinguishable. The specimen need not even be identifiable, so long as annual growth patterns are essentially the same among taxa. For age estimation, the specimen must

Growth Increment Analysis of Freshwater Mussel Shell /

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Table 5.1: Summary of Growth Increment–Based Data on Mussel Shell from the Allen Site Growth Catalog No. Stratum Taxon Side Index Age

1026-47 1026-47 1212-47 1212-47 1212-47 1215-47 1215-47 8758-48 9033-48 9082-48 9476-48 9525-48 9539-48 9563-48 9564-48

unknown unknown unknown unknown unknown unknown unknown unknown unknown Occupation Level (OL) 2 OL 1 Intermediate Zone (IZ) above OL 2 OL 1 IZ

Lampsilis siliquoidea Uniomerus tetralasmus Unidentifiable Uniomerus tetralasmus Uniomerus tetralasmus Quadrula quadrula Ligumia recta Uniomerus tetralasmus Unidentifiable Uniomerus tetralasmus Uniomerus tetralasmus Lampsilis cardium Lampsilis siliquoidea Uniomerus tetralasmus Lampsilis siliquoidea

have the umbo and an intact resilial tuberosity, but the posterior end of the tuberosity need not be complete. Growth rate estimation requires an intact umbo and anterior resilial tuberosity; the latest growth increments need not be present, but all extant increments must be clear and measurable. Age and growth rate analyses require identifiable specimens, because each analysis seeks taxon-specific information. Results Of the 126 shell fragments submitted, only 15 specimens met the minimum criteria for one or more analyses (Table 5.1). Fourteen were suitable for seasonality, 11 for age, and 10 for growth rate. Analyzed specimens belong to five taxa: Uniomerus tetralasmus (7), Lampsilis siliquoidea (2), L. cardium (1), Ligumia recta (2), and Quadrula quadrula (1). The remaining two are unidentifiable. Only seven specimens are assignable to stratum, including three from Occupation Level (OL) 1, two from the Intermediate Zone (IZ), and one each from OL 2 and above OL 2. The remainder, most of which were excavated in 1947 under less stringent vertical controls, cannot be assigned to stratum. This does not provide for much of a comparison during the occupation

L L L L L L L R L R R L R R R

24.0 87.1 55.7 51.9 53.1 51.2 25.8 44.3 55.4 71.2 26.5 44.4 38.3 — 45.8

5 5 — — 8 13 8 4 — 7 — 20 20 21 8

Resilial Tuberosity Length

Growth Rate

33.3 27.24 — 28.38 33.91 22.84 47.58 26.12 — 28.78 — 45.95 46.34 — 47.20

6.64 8.24 — — 4.08 2.77 8.10 6.49 — 4.36 — — 5.39 6.05 7.84

of the site, so I have been reduced for most analyses to summarizing results for the site as a whole. Seasonality Growth indices range from 24.0 to 87.1. Except for two specimens of U. tetralasmus, with indices of 71.2 and 87.1, indices lie between 24.0 and 55.7 and cluster between 44 and 58. There is some variation among taxa. Uniomerus indices cover the full range, although they tend toward the high end of the distribution; all indices for Lampsilis and Ligumia are below the mean. This could indicate differences in annual growth patterns (assuming all mussels were collected at the same time of year) or differences in the time of year that habitats of the two groups were exploited (assuming similar annual growth patterns). In this case, however, sampling error is the simplest explanation. The mean growth index for the site is 48.2±16.7. When this value is compared with the annual growth curve of M. falcata (Figure 5.2), it results in an estimated date of mid-August. Assuming an error of one month, the sample must have been collected between mid-July and mid-September (i.e., mid- to late summer). Because there is evidence that the mussels in this collection were deposited over approximately 2,000

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Figure 5.3

Figure 5.4

Growth indices from the Allen site mussels compared with control samples of Margaritifera falcata (M.f.) from July, August, and September and Anodonta berigiana (A.b.) collected in August.

Graph of growth indices from the Allen site compared with the combined indices from Margaritifera falcata (M.f.) collected in July, August, and September.

Figure 5.5

Figure 5.6

Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Ligumia recta (L.r.) and Quadrula quadrula (Q.q).

Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Lampsilis siliquoidea (L.s.) and Ligumia recta (L.r.) from the Allen site.

Growth Increment Analysis of Freshwater Mussel Shell /

Figure 5.7 Graphic representation of cumulative growth in specimens of Uniomerus tetralasmus (U.t.).

years, a single date of death is implausible. Therefore the graphic method, which allows for the distinction of several collection intervals, provides more satisfying results. Figure 5.3 displays a graph of Allen site indices, grouped in increments of 10, with the June, July, and August controls for M. falcata and the August control for A. beringiana. Three modes in the Allen site graph, in the 30, 60, and 80–90 increments, match modes for the three control periods. When controls for M. falcata are combined into a single graph (Figure 5.4), it closely resembles the Allen site data, except that the Allen site has more specimens in the lower and middle value ranges and much fewer in the high range. Based on these comparisons, Allen site shells appear to have been collected primarily in July and August, with some collection possibly occurring in September. Age Specimen ages range from 4 to 21 years (Table 5.1). In general, members of the genus Lampsilis tend to be older, and those of Uniomerus tend to be younger. These data will have little meaning until samples from other sites and times are analyzed for comparison. Growth Rates As should be expected, growth rates vary considerably among the five species (Table 5.1). Ligumia recta

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has the most rapid growth, averaging 7.97, followed by Lampsilis siliquoidea (6.02), Uniomerus tetralasmus (5.84), and Quadrula quadrula (2.77). Growth rate could not be determined for the specimen of Lampsilis cardium because its earlier growth bands were too indistinct for measurement. Growth rates are essentially identical for specimens of Lampsilis siliquoidea and Ligumia recta but vary considerably for Uniomerus tetralasmus (Table 5.1; Figures 5.5–5.7). Two specimens of U. tetralasmus have growth rates around 4, and three others have rates above 6. The grouping is most readily distinguishable when seen graphically (Figure 5.7). The tendency for U. tetralasmus to have a variable growth rate could be related to its habitat. Unlike Lampsilis siliquoidea and Ligumia recta, which inhabit flowing streams (see chapter 4) in which water quality is more uniform from place to place, U. tetralasmus can occupy either flowing water or still backwaters and ponds. It is possible that different growth rates indicate that some specimens inhabited moving water and others inhabited ponds in the same vicinity or that they inhabited different ponds that varied in their suitability for the species. It is also possible that the difference in growth rate represents a change in habitat conditions through time. Of the five specimens for which growth rate could be determined, two with faster rates (around 6) came from OL 1, whereas one of the slower-growing specimens came from OL 2. The others are of unknown stratigraphic origin. The possibility that growth rates in U. tetralasmus became slower toward the end of the occupation period is worth considering further. In his analysis, Warren (chapter 4) states that sometime after the Allen site was abandoned, Medicine Creek changed from a relatively high-discharge stream with backwater ponds to a low-discharge stream without backwater ponds. Considering the preference of U. tetralasmus for backwaters, the decline in the quality of the pond habitat as streamflows were reduced might have had a negative effect on its growth potential. The reduction in U. tetralasmus growth rate between the beginning and end of site occupancy may mean that streamflows had already begun their decline before people stopped

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camping at this locality. Such a decline might even have contributed to their decision. Conclusions The small sample of mollusk shell from the Allen site, Nebraska, provides good information about seasonality of site occupation, an indication of environmental change near the end of site use, and baseline data on mollusk ages. Seasonality analysis by both the graphic and mean index methods, applied to the collection as a whole, demonstrates use of the site at least in July, August, and September, with emphasis on August. An apparent decline in growth rates of Uniomerus tetralasmus between Occupation Levels 1 and 2 may

indicate that flows in Medicine Creek had already begun their decline toward modern levels before the site was abandoned. This could be evidence that the West-Central Plains had begun to dry out by around 8000 B.P. This study was a trial of the nondestructive resilial tuberosity method for growth increment measurement and analysis with species from the Great Plains. Archaeological application of the method on five species of Unionid mussels from the Allen site has produced encouraging results that are internally consistent and corroborate other evidence for seasonality and possibly environmental change.

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Chapter 6

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene in Southwestern Nebraska The Pollen and Phytolith Evidence Linda Scott Cummings, Thomas E. Moutoux, and Reid A. Bryson

Understanding the ancient vegetation of the region around the Allen site is central to understanding the conditions the site’s occupants lived in, both because plants provide essential resources for all human groups and because overall patterns of vegetation, and changes in those patterns, provide important clues about ancient climate. This chapter presents analyses of pollen and phytoliths from four localities within the Medicine Creek drainage as a basis for examining these two issues. As the discussion below shows, these data indicate a clear pattern of seasonal flooding at Medicine Creek during the Early Holocene. Therefore, we also consider our data in light of a series of archaeoclimatic models of overall temperature and precipitation and of stream discharge/flooding in Medicine Creek. The sites considered here include a cutbank at the north end of Harry Strunk Lake and three localities along Lime Creek (from downstream to upstream, these are the Lime Creek, Red Smoke, and Stafford sites). May (2002; see also chapter 3) discusses the stratigraphy/geomorphology and radiocarbon chronology of all four of these localities. Examination of the pollen and phytolith record is based on analysis of individual pollen and phytolith samples within stratigraphic sequences. Sample selection paralleled sample selection for radiocarbon dates and geomorphic samples to maximize comparability of these records. Samples spaced this far apart, of course, allow only a coarse-grained examination of temporal changes in

the past vegetation, from which we may infer paleoenvironmental conditions. However, the close spacing of sample locales within the drainage makes it possible to assess local patterns of environmental variation that are invisible in studies that reconstruct an environment on the basis of samples taken from a single location. Two samples from the present ground surface at Lime Creek were also examined for both pollen and phytoliths. Methods Several cores were collected by drilling into the terrace above the Lime Creek site. Single combined pollen and phytolith samples were removed from one core at the same depths that radiocarbon samples were removed. Samples from the other three localities were taken from exposed cutbanks. The samples were processed simultaneously to remove any clays in the sediments. Once clay removal was complete, the samples were dried and split for subsequent pollen and phytolith processing. In this manner we are assured that the pollen and phytolith samples represent identical proveniences. Pollen/Phytolith Extraction A chemical extraction technique based on flotation is the standard preparation technique used at Paleoresearch Institute for the removal of pollen from the large volume of sand, silt, and clay with which they are mixed. This particular process was developed for extraction of pollen from soils where preservation has

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been less than ideal and pollen density is low when compared with that in peat bogs. Hydrochloric acid (10 percent) was used to remove calcium carbonates present in the soil, after which the samples were screened through 150-micron mesh. The samples were rinsed until neutral by adding water (to a vertical column height of 10 cm), letting the samples stand for two hours, and then slowly pouring off the supernatant. A small quantity of sodium hexametaphosphate was added to each sample once it reached neutrality; then the beaker was again filled with water and allowed to stand for two hours. The samples were again rinsed until neutral, filling the beakers only with water. This step was added to remove clay prior to heavy liquid separation. Once this step was complete, the samples were dried and then pulverized. Zinc bromide (density 2.1) was used for the flotation process. The samples were mixed with zinc bromide and centrifuged at 1,500 rpm for 10 minutes to separate organic from inorganic remains. The supernatant containing pollen and organic remains was decanted and diluted. This process was repeated to ensure recovery of all pollen and organic remains. After rinsing the pollenrich organic fraction obtained by this separation, all samples received a short (20-minute) treatment in hot hydrofluoric acid to remove any remaining inorganic particles. The samples were then acetolated for three minutes to remove any extraneous organic matter. After this, the samples were rinsed until neutral, then stained with basic fuschin, with a single drop of potassium hydroxide in the final rinse, in preparation for slide making. Extraction of phytoliths from these sediments also was based on heavy liquid floatation. Hydrogen peroxide (30 percent) was first used to destroy the organic fraction from 50 ml of sediment. Once this reaction was complete, glacial acetic was added to the sample to remove calcium carbonates. Glacial acetic was used instead of hydrochloric acid to preserve any calcium oxalate forms remaining in the sediments. Following this, the samples were washed until neutral. Then sodium hexametaphosphate was added to the mixture to suspend the remaining clays. The sample was rinsed thoroughly with distilled water to remove

the clays and was centrifuged at a low speed. Once most of the clays were removed, the silt- and sand-size fraction was dried. The dried silts and sands were then mixed with zinc bromide (density 2.3) and centrifuged to separate the phytoliths, which will float, from the other silica, which will not. Phytoliths, in the broader sense, may include opal phytoliths and calcium oxalate crystals. Calcium oxalate crystals are formed by many plants, including Opuntia (prickly pear cactus), and are separated, rather than destroyed, using this extraction technique. Any remaining clay is floated with the phytoliths and is further removed by mixing with sodium hexametaphosphate and distilled water. The samples were then rinsed with distilled water and then with alcohols to remove the water. After several alcohol rinses, the samples were mounted in Canada balsam for counting with a light microscope at a magnification of 500×. Data Collection A light microscope was used to count the pollen to a total of 100 to 200 pollen grains at a magnification of 500×. Pollen density was extremely low in the Red Smoke samples, making it difficult to obtain large pollen counts for that locality. Pollen preservation in the samples varied from good to poor. Comparative reference material collected at the Intermountain Herbarium, Utah State University, and the University of Colorado Herbarium was used to identify the pollen to the family, genus, and species level, where possible. Pollen aggregates were recorded during identification of the pollen. Aggregates are clumps of a single type of pollen that may be interpreted to represent pollen dispersal over short distances or the actual introduction of portions of the plant represented into an archaeological setting. Aggregates were included in the pollen counts as single grains, as is customary. The presence of aggregates is noted by an “A” next to the pollen frequency on the pollen diagram. A plus (+) on the pollen diagram indicates that the pollen type was observed outside the regular count while scanning the remainder of the microscope slide. Indeterminate pollen includes pollen grains that are folded, mutilated, or

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

otherwise distorted beyond recognition. These grains are included in the total pollen count, as they are part of the pollen record. Phytolith Review Phytoliths are silica bodies produced by plants when soluble silica in the groundwater is absorbed by the roots and carried up to the plant via the vascular system. Evaporation and metabolism of this water result in precipitation of the silica in and around the cellular walls. The general term phytoliths, while strictly applied to opal phytoliths, may also be used to refer to calcium oxalate crystals produced by a variety of plants, including Opuntia. Opal phytoliths, which are distinct and decay-resistant plant remains, are deposited in the soil as the plant or plant parts die and break down. They are, however, subject to mechanical breakage in most sediments and reabsorption in high pH soils. Phytoliths are often introduced directly into the soils in which the plants decay. Transportation of phytoliths occurs primarily by animal consumption, gathering of plants by humans, or by erosion or transportation of the soil by wind, water, or ice. The major divisions of grass short-cell phytoliths recovered include festucoid, chloridoid, and panicoid. Cylindric (smooth elongate) phytoliths are currently of no aid in interpreting either paleoenvironmental conditions or the subsistence record because they are produced by a large number of grasses. Crenate or pilate (castillate) elongate forms are noted in such diverse grasses as Bouteloua, Aristida, and Stipa. Phytoliths tabulated to represent “total phytoliths” include all forms representing plants. Frequencies for all other bodies recovered are calculated by dividing the number of each type recovered by the “total phytoliths.” The festucoid class of phytoliths is ascribed primarily to the subfamily Pooideae and occurs most abundantly in cool, moist climates. However, Brown (1984) notes that festucoid-type phytoliths are produced in small quantity by nearly all grasses. Therefore, although they are typical phytoliths produced by the subfamily Pooideae, they are not exclusive to this subfamily. Chloridoid phytoliths are found

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primarily in the subfamily Chloridoideae, a group of warm-season grasses that grow in arid to semiarid areas and require less available soil moisture. Chloridoid grasses are the most abundant in the American Southwest (Gould and Shaw 1983:120). Panicoid phytoliths occur in warm-season or tall grasses that frequently thrive in humid conditions. Twiss also notes that some members of the subfamily Chloridoideae produce both bilobate (panicoid-type) and festucoid-type phytoliths: “According to Gould and Shaw (1983, p. 110) more than 97 percent of the native US grass species (1,026 or 1,053) are divided equally among three subfamilies Pooideae, Chloridoideae, and Panicoideae” (1987:181). Buliform phytoliths (both keystone shape and rectangular shape) are produced in motor cells that lie primarily on the upper surface of grass leaves and provide places for water storage when they are not silicified (Parry and Smithson 1964; Piperno 1988; Sangster and Parry 1969). In fact, an excess supply of water in the growing environment and submergence of root systems are directly linked to increased buliform cell silicification (Piperno 2006:6; Sangster and Parry 1969). Trichomes and papilla represent epidermal hairs on grasses and sedges. Epidermal forms represent the silicification of cells on the surfaces of tree leaves (Piperno 2006:6). Diatoms and sponge spicules also were noted. Long diatoms are ubiquitous in sediment records and have no interpretive significance, while round diatoms often indicate wet conditions. Sponge spicules represent freshwater sponges that live in rivers. Their presence in these samples was minor and indicates the presence of algae. In Illinois, their recovery in upland soils is noted to accompany loess deposits derived from floodplains (Jones and Beavers 1963), indicating that diatoms may be transported from their original location. Volcanic ash fragments are noted to be widely dispersed in sediments across the North American continent in quantities varying from mere presence to dominance of the record. At present, volcanic ash fragments are interpreted to represent either a nearby volcanic event or tiny fragments present in the upper atmosphere that fall to earth.

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Archaeoclimatic Models: Model Construction Development of macrophysical climate models was instrumental in creating archaeoclimatic models of past climates for specific locations (Bryson and Bryson 1997, 1998); these models make it possible to estimate modeled mean temperature and precipitation as well as some monthly climatic parameters back to 14,000 years B.P. (Bryson and Bryson n.d.:1). In addition, these parameters can be used to generate a “water budget,” comparing precipitation and potential evapotranspiration, storm intensity and frequency, snowfall, and other climatic factors. A macrophysical model begins with radiation input at the top of the atmosphere weighted and averaged over the entire hemisphere (Milankovitch cycles), then attenuates this radiation by the highly reflective sulfuric acid droplets in the stratosphere. These droplets are produced by the conversion of sulfur dioxide from volcanoes. Volcanic activity is estimated by using a very large database of radiocarbon-dated volcanic eruptions. Following this, radiation reflected from the surface (largely dependent on the extent of glacial ice or snow in the Northern Hemisphere) is subtracted from the hemispheric total that has passed through the atmosphere. Important features that force relatively large changes in the model during the Holocene include the pause in glacial melt in the North American and European ice sheets between the Younger Dryas and 8000 RCYBP. At this time, approximately half of the maximum amount of ice (by area) remained. Between 8000 and 7500 RCYBP the entire ice section in Hudson’s Bay calved out into the Atlantic through Hudson Strait (Bryson 2005: #3733; Bryson et al. 1969). Once the amount of radiation available to heat the earth’s surface (and lower levels of the atmosphere) has been determined, past monthly hemispheric temperatures may be calculated. The equator to pole gradient of temperature for each month is important in calculating the past positions of the major centers of action such as high-pressure areas, the jet stream, and the intertropical convergence (ITC).

An archaeoclimatic model is constructed by calculating the latitude of the features outlined above. The model is then calibrated for a local area by determining how the present climate responds to the present value of the anticyclones, jet, and ITC in its sector. The modern climatic record introduces local physiography into the model, for it is an observed expression of climate that results from a combination of the factors discussed above, as well as the local environment of the station (although major changes in topography or distance to major bodies of water will affect the accuracy of the model in the past). After the positions of the past climatic centers of action are determined, meteorological variables, such as temperature, precipitation, evaporation, and others, are nonlinearly regressed against the monthly positions of relevant climate drivers to find a least-squares best fit. Data points in the model reflect 200-year averages for climatic data and have been, and are continuing to be, ground-truthed through comparison with stratigraphic pollen and phytolith records, such as the records reported here. These tests indicate a high degree of reliability or robustness in the model. Results The remainder of this chapter considers the outcomes of the pollen/phytolith and archaeoclimatic models, presenting the results of the former for each location included here and then presenting the outcome of the models. The four localities studied for pollen and phytoliths include the Medicine Creek cutbank, located along the banks of the current Harry Strunk reservoir; the Lime Creek site, located just upstream from the confluence of Medicine and Lime creeks; the Red Smoke site, situated less than 0.5 mi up Lime Creek from the Lime Creek site; and the Stafford site, located near the head of Lime Creek. These sites thus sample the range of local environments in the drainage along a gradient from the main axis of Medicine Creek up its major tributary nearly to the open uplands. Radiocarbon ages for these sites anchor the sediments in time and range from approximately 28,000 to 7600 RCYBP. Lime Creek exhibits the oldest record, as well as the youngest samples. Six samples were examined between approximately 28,000 and 7910 RCYBP at Lime Creek.

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

Table 6.1: Provenience of Pollen Samples from Lime Creek and Harry Strunk Reservoir Sample No. Depth (m) Provenience

Pollen/Phytoliths Counted

Lime Creek 1 17.9–18.0 Sedimentary Unit 16, 27,970±1190 9 17.7–17.8 Sedimentary Unit 16 2 17.1–17.2 Sedimentary Unit 15 (Bottom), 13,720±530 10 16.7–16.8 Sedimentary Unit 15 (Top) 3 16.5–16.6 Sedimentary Unit 14, 10,030±270 4 15.3–15.5 Sedimentary Unit 13b, 9,960±270 5 14.9–15.0 Sedimentary Unit 12, 9,060±510 11 14.5–14.6 Sedimentary Unit 11b 6 14.4–14.6 Sedimentary Unit 11a, 7,910±1000

200/174 102/NA 200/199 101/NA 200/196 200/192 200/197 100/NA 200/192

Medicine Creek Cutbank 8 15.2–15.3 Sedimentary Unit 11, 7600±270 7 18.3–18.4 Sedimentary Unit 3 (Top), 10,500±260

100/180 100/190

Note: See May, chapter 3, for discussion of sedimentary units.

Table 6.2: Provenience Data for Samples from the Stafford and Red Smoke Sites Site Sample No.

Depth, Combined (m) Provenience

Pollen/Phytoliths Counted

Red Smoke

RS5

26–31

Sedimentary Unit 4, 8862±230

51/62



RS4

82–87

Sedimentary Unit 3 (Top), 8270±80

101/45



RS3

119–124

Sedimentary Unit 3 (Center)

42/171



RS2

157–162

Sedimentary Unit 2 (Top), 9220±90

101/42



RS1

230–235

Sedimentary Unit 2, 9820±80

34/86

Stafford Site

SS10

280–285

Sedimentary Unit 2 (Center), 10,870±170

101/26



SS9

328–333

Sedimentary Unit 3 (Top), 11,160±40

30/133



SS8

353–358

Sedimentary Unit 1, 10,570±130

25/42



SS7

368–373

Sedimentary Unit 1

101/26



SS6

417–422

Sedimentary Unit 1, 9460±150

101/143



SS5

467–472

Sedimentary Unit 1

75/183



SS4

508–513

Sedimentary Unit 1, 10,610±40

55/170



SS3

548–553

Sedimentary Unit 1

76/140



SS2

588–593

Sedimentary Unit 1

55/226



SS1

624–629

Sedimentary Unit 1, 10,540±100

57/66

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Table 6.3: Pollen Types Observed in Samples from Lime Creek and Harry Strunk Lake Cutbank Scientific Name

Common Name

Arboreal Pollen: Acer negundo Box elder Alnus Alder Betulaceae Birch family Fraxinus Ash Juniperus Juniper Picea Spruce Pinus Pine Pinaceae Pine family Quercus Oak Salix Willow Ulmus Elm Nonarboreal Pollen: Cheno-ams Includes goosefoot family and amaranth Compositae Sunflower family Artemisia Sagebrush High-Spine Includes aster, rabbitbrush, snake-weed, sunflower, etc. Liguliflorae Includes Chicory tribe Cruciferae Mustard family (Brassicaceae) Cyperaceae Sedge family Poaceae Grass family Leguminosae Legume or pea family Liliaceae Lily family Polemoniaceae Phlox family Rhamnaceae Buckthorn family Rhus trilobata Lemonade berry Rosaceae Rose family Saxifraga Saxifrage Shepherdia Buffaloberry Solanaceae Potato/tomato family Sphaeralcea Globe mallow Typha angustifolia Cattail Spores: Trilete Fern spore

Table 6.4: Pollen Types Observed in Samples from the Stafford and Red Smoke Sites Scientific Name

Arboreal Pollen: Betulaceae Corylus Carya Juniperus Pinus Salix Ulmus Nonarboreal Pollen: Asteraceae Artemisia Low-Spine High-Spine Tubuliflorae Liguliflorae cf. Campanulaceae-type Caryophyllaceae Ceanothus Cheno-ams Sarcobatus Tidestromia Cyperaceae Ephedra nevadensis Eriogonum Euphorbia Fabaceae cf. Lathryus Gilia-type Lamiaceae Phlox-type Poaceae Rosaceae Shepherdia Typha angustifolia Spores: Selaginella densa Telicia Trilete

Common Name

Birch family Hazelnut Hickory, pecan Juniper Pine Willow Elm Sunflower family Sagebrush Includes ragweed, cocklebur, etc. Includes aster, rabbitbrush, snakeweed, sunflower, etc. Includes eroded Low- and High-Spine Includes Chicory tribe Bellflower family Pink family Buckbrush, California lilac Includes goosefoot family and amaranth Greasewood Tidestromia Sedge family Mormon tea Wild buckwheat Spurge Bean or legume family Vetch Gilia Mint family Phlox Grass family Rose family Buffaloberry Cattail Little clubmoss Fungal spore Fern spore

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

83

Figure 6.1 Pollen from the Medicine Creek cutbank and Lime Creek sites.

Tables 6.1 and 6.2 provide a list of samples examined from the four sites examined for pollen and phytoliths, and Tables 6.3 and 6.4 list the pollen types encountered, respectively, in the Lime Creek and Medicine Creek cutbank samples and the Red Smoke and Stafford site samples. Medicine Creek Cutbank Two samples collected from the Medicine Creek cutbank of Harry Strunk reservoir were examined for pollen. The uppermost sample (sample 8) was collected from the upper soil, which was radiocarbon dated to 7600±270 B.P. The lower sample (sample 7) was collected from the lower soil, which yielded two radiocarbon ages: 10,850±670 B.P. at the base and 10,500±260 B.P. in the upper portion. These soils approximate the dates of the two occupations at the nearby Allen site. The pollen was not well preserved in these samples. This is similar to the condition of the pollen noted in samples from Lime Creek at approximately the same time. There were also fewer taxa

represented in the cutbank pollen record from Harry Strunk reservoir, probably as a result of deterioration of the pollen (Figure 6.1). Pollen Pollen taxa present include Betula, Pinus, Quercus, Cheno-ams, Artemisia, High-Spine Asteraceae, Low-Spine Asteraceae, Liguliflorae, Poaceae, Polemoniaceae, and Saxifraga, representing birch, pine, oak, Cheno-ams, sagebrush, various members of the sunflower family including some from the chicory tribe, grasses, a member of the phlox family, and saxifrage. Variations in the Poaceae and Asteraceae pollen frequencies between the Medicine Creek cutbank and Lime Creek suggest that fluctuations in these pollen types probably represent very local vegetation. The only pollen type present in the Harry Strunk reservoir cutbank samples that was not present at Lime Creek is Polemoniaceae, representing a member of the phlox family growing in this area.

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Figure 6.2 Phytoliths from the Medicine Creek cutbank and Lime Creek sites.

Phytoliths The phytolith record for the Medicine Creek cutbank is very similar to that at the Lime Creek site (Figure 6.2). Quantities of panicoid and festucoid grass short cells increased between the lower sediment, dated to 10,500–10,850 B.P., and the upper sediment, dated to 7600 B.P. The quantity of chloridoid grass short cells, on the other hand, declined. This suggests that conditions were moister at 7600 B.P. than at 10,500–10,850 B.P., for both the shady or cool-season and sunny, warm-season grasses that require increased moisture, while the short grasses, which prefer sunny locations that are dry, decreased in quantity. Very small quantities of buliform, hairs, spiny spheroids, and sponge spicules were observed in either or both of these samples.

category includes the genera Ambrosia, Iva, and Xanthium (ragweed, marsh elder, and cocklebur, respectively). In addition, these samples yielded some pollen grains with eroded and shorted spines that were difficult to distinguish from the typical Low-Spine Asteraceae pollen. It is acknowledged that some of the Low-Spine Asteraceae might be eroded High-Spine Asteraceae, although the confidence level was sufficient in most cases to make the distinction. High-Spine Asteraceae pollen was relatively rare. Cheno-am pollen was abundant, whereas Poaceae pollen was observed in much lesser quantities than were noted in the subsurface samples (see below). This suggests that Cheno-ams are much more abundant and grasses are much less abundant at present than during the Pleistocene or Early Holocene.

Lime Creek Site (25FT41) The pollen record from the present ground surface is represented by samples collected from the uplands and the terrace at the Lime Creek site. The pollen content of these samples is very similar, both in type and in quantity of pollen observed. Slightly more arboreal pollen was recorded on the terrace, probably as a result of the proximity to trees in the drainage. Both samples are dominated by Low-Spine Asteraceae-type Asteraceae pollen (Figure 6.1). The Low-Spine Asteraceae

Pollen The pollen record at Lime Creek begins with an isolated sample (1) from 27,970±1190 B.P. This Pleistocene sample yielded 12 percent Picea pollen (Figure 6.1) and another 2 percent Pinaceae pollen that was too fragmentary to make a positive determination as to whether Picea or Pinus grains were represented. In addition, Juniperus and Pinus pollen were noted, indicating that spruce, pines, and juniper were all present and made up the local forest. The frequency

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

of Picea pollen was sufficiently high to indicate that spruce grew in the immediate vicinity of Lime Creek. The moderately low frequency of all conifers suggests either that the forest was not dense or that it was located at a distance from the site, rather than defining the local vegetation. There appears to be a considerable understory associated with this forest or growing at the site locality, indicating that, if the trees grew in the immediate vicinity sampled, they did not form a dense forest but, rather, a relatively open forest with scattered trees. These understory plants were probably also common along the banks and floodplain of Lime Creek. The most abundant are Cheno-ams, sagebrush, various members of the sunflower family (which include primarily plants like sumpweed and ragweed that commonly grow in disturbed wet floodplains), shrubby composites such as rabbitbrush, sedges, grasses, and saxifrage. Sedges and sagebrush are normally expected to occur as part of the understory associated with the boreal forest. Saxifrage prefers the relatively wet habitat along creeks and streams and presently grows both on the Plains and in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Pollen sample 9 was collected immediately below the expected location of a disconformity reported in another core below sample 2, which yielded a radiocarbon age of 13,720±530 B.P. This disconformity was not observed in the core from which the pollen samples were collected. The exact age of sample 9 is, therefore, uncertain, although it is clearly Late Pleistocene. This sample exhibits a dramatic decline in arboreal pollen, primarily as a result of the rapid drop in Picea pollen. In addition, Juniperus pollen declines. Pinus pollen remains similar to the quantity observed for 27,970 B.P. Artemisia increases slightly, and Asteraceae pollen also increases. Poaceae increases, suggesting an expansion of the prairie at this time. The next pollen sample (2) was associated with a stratum yielding a radiocarbon age of 13,720 B.P. Picea pollen continues as a mere presence in the record, as does juniper. The Pinus pollen frequency, however, remains relatively stable. It is interesting to note that a variety of hardwoods and deciduous trees entered either the forested areas or the floodplains along Lime

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Creek at this time, including alder, the birch family, ash, oak, willow, and elm. The forest succession from spruce forest to a transitional hardwood forest or prairie has often been interpreted to have occurred about 12,600–12,000 B.P in this portion of the prairie (Wright 1970). Pollen records at Rosebud on the South Dakota–Nebraska state line (Watts and Wright 1966, in Wright 1970) and at Muscatah in northeastern Kansas (Gruger 1968, in Wright 1970) are used for this reconstruction. It is interesting to note that at Lime Creek, prior to 13,720 B.P., over 1,000 years earlier than at other sites, we have a severe decline in spruce pollen, indicating the termination of the spruce forest, followed by the introduction of pollen from a variety of hardwoods. A similar variety of hardwoods has been noted in pollen records from other sites on or bordering the prairie, although their presence is frequently short-lived, giving way to true prairie conditions. The small quantity of pollen representing hardwoods suggests that these trees probably grew along the drainages, rather than being successional to an upland spruce forest. For 13,720 B.P. the pollen record at Lime Creek displays a peak of Cheno-am pollen, declining LowSpine Asteraceae pollen, a stable Poaceae pollen frequency, and a variety of pollen representing herbaceous plants and shrubs including sagebrush, High-Spine Asteraceae, Liguliflorae Asteraceae (which includes members of the chicory tribe such as chicory and native dandelion), Rosaceae, and Saxifraga. This sample appears to represent a mixed prairie habitat on the terrace, with hardwood trees scattered along the drainages. Pines probably grew as scattered stands across the landscape. Cheno-am pollen might represent ground disturbance, for several members of this family grow well in disturbed habitats. Sample 10 was collected immediately below the disconformity below sample 3, which is radiocarbon dated to 10,030 B.P. This sample exhibits considerable differences from the previous samples, as well as those above. The arboreal pollen frequency is very low, with Pinus the only arboreal pollen type observed. Poaceae pollen has increased dramatically, and portions of anthers were recovered in the pollen sample, representing grasses growing in this area. Declines are noted

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primarily in the Low-Spine Asteraceae frequencies. Liguliflorae are present in this sample and probably represent the growth of members of the chicory tribe of composites in the drainage. The pollen record in this sample is dominated by locally abundant grasses, as suggested by the recovery of numerous aggregates and anther fragments of Poaceae pollen. The next pollen sample (3) yielded a radiocarbon age of 10,030±450 B.P. No Picea pollen was observed in the record, although small quantities of other trees, such as Betulaceae, Fraxinus, Juniperus, Pinus, and Ulmus are noted. Throughout the time period represented from 10,030 (sample 3) through 9960 B.P. (sample 4) to 9060 B.P. (sample 5), the Low-Spine Asteraceae population rises and exhibits a peak of over 50 percent of the pollen present in this sample collected along Lime Creek, indicating considerable disturbance. The grass population peaks at 9960 B.P., indicating that this interval might have supported a greater quantity of grasses than slightly earlier or later. All samples, however, represent a mixed prairie vegetation. Picea pollen is noted in the sample at 9960 B.P. prior to disappearing from the record entirely. Pollen representing hardwoods (Alnus, Betulaceae, Fraxinus, Quercus, Salix, and Ulmus) is noted sporadically throughout the pollen record to the uppermost sample at 7910 B.P. This suggests that the floodplain along Lime Creek supported a variety of hardwoods and other deciduous trees that included alder, the birch family, ash, oak, willow, and elm. Pinus and Juniperus apparently also grew in small quantities in the region. The pollen record during the portions of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene represented by these samples contains much larger quantities of Poaceae than are noted at present. In addition, Cheno-ams are not nearly as abundant as they are at present. During the past, pines, juniper, oak, and willow might have constituted quantities of the local and regional vegetation communities similar to the quantities observed today. This variety of deciduous trees recorded in the Pleistocene and Early Holocene is not observed in the pollen record from the present ground surface. This record suggests a dense prairie vegetation with grass as a dominant plant and considerably more variety in

local trees in the drainages during the Pleistocene and Early Holocene than at present. Phytoliths The phytolith record from this site displays vastly different signatures in samples collected from the present ground surface and the stratigraphic column (Figure 6.2). In the modern samples, the phytolith record is clearly dominated by short grasses (chloridoid phytoliths). These represent warm-season grasses that survive relatively dry conditions and are typical in areas with hot, dry summers. Both panicoid (representing tall grasses that grow primarily in the warm season and prefer increased moisture) and festucoid (representing cool-season grasses that require additional moisture) phytoliths are reduced in frequency in samples from the present ground surface when compared with the quantities noted in the older samples. In contrast, the chloridoid grass short cells are thoroughly dominant in the modern samples, indicating a lower water table at present than in the past. The Pleistocene and Early Holocene samples are very similar to one another with respect to the phytolith record representing grasses. Short grasses, represented by chloridoid phytoliths, were apparently least abundant during the Pleistocene, increasing slightly during the Early Holocene. Both cool-season (festucoid) and tall (panicoid) grasses also were prominent in the local vegetation throughout the Pleistocene and Early Holocene time periods represented in these samples. Sometime between 7910 B.P. and the present a drastic change in the composition of the local prairie grasses took place, resulting in a vast decrease in tall grasses, a decrease in cool-season grasses, and a large increase in short grasses. This change was most likely in response to a lowering of the water table. Spiny spheroid phytoliths enter the record near 10,000 B.P. and are evident in the subsurface samples, although not in samples from the present ground surface. Although these forms are not considered to be diagnostic of any individual plant or family of plants, they are noted in the Euphorbiaceae (spurge family), which is expected as part of the local vegetation. The lack of difference between the Pleistocene sample and Early Holocene

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

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Figure 6.3 Pollen from the Red Smoke and Stafford sites.

samples is extremely interesting and raises questions concerning the composition of the prairie that can be answered only through further research involving sampling at much closer intervals. Red Smoke Site The Red Smoke (25FT42) site is situated along Lime Creek in an area where Schultz et al.’s (1948) T2 terrace and associated alluvial fill sediments 2A are present. Trees are common and accompanied by a thin understory of vegetation. Pollen and phytolith samples were collected at variably spaced intervals of approximately 30 to 70 cm over a vertical distance of approximately 2 m (Table 6.2). The sampled portion of the described column is believed to correspond to Davis’s (1953a, 1954a) Sedimentary Unit 1, which represents the lower portion of the 2A alluvial fill at this locality. The unit has an associated radiocarbon date of 9820±80 B.P. Based on similar radiocarbon dates obtained from overlying units and from the nature of sedimentation, all of Davis’s Unit 1 (and therefore the pollen and phytolith samples) is believed to be approximately 9,800 years old. Subsequent divisions established by May and Bamforth that further defined Davis’s original Unit 1 are discussed according to their relative

position below an arbitrary datum established for this project. Five pollen/phytolith samples were examined from this site. Pollen The five combination pollen and phytolith samples from the Red Smoke site were recovered from siltdominated flood deposits; however, the pollen spectra obtained from these samples vary dramatically in composition, as well as in quantity of pollen from individual pollen types (Figure 6.3). Each of the pollen samples is associated with a radiocarbon age. The base of the record dates to 9820±20 B.P. in RS1. Sample RS2 dates to 9220±90 B.P., and sample RS3 returned a date of 8830±130 B.P. RS4, collected from the top of Sedimentary Unit 3, is associated with a date of 8270±80 B.P. A date of 8862±230 B.P. is used as the most appropriate date associated with sample RS5 and is an apparent reversal with the date noted for RS4. Based on total pollen concentration, the pollen samples may be separated into two groups: those with extremely low concentrations and those with elevated concentrations. Three of the five pollen samples fall into the first group and include RS1, RS3, and RS5. The extremely low concentration of pollen in these samples

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likely reflects the rapid sedimentation that has been hypothesized for this site and is similar to values noted at the nearby Stafford site. These samples also exhibit pollen signatures indicating that they accumulated over several years’ time. Beginning at the base of the record, sample RS1 was recovered from a horizontally laminated silt layer, which increases the likelihood that this sample represents more than one flood event. The pollen spectrum of sample RS1 gives little indication as to when the represented flooding event(s) occurred. The pollen appears to be a completely homogenized blend of upland and floodplain vegetation, which is typical of signatures that have been averaged either over multiple flood events or during a time of gradual sediment accumulation. An aerially extensive flooding event resulting in the thorough mixing of sediments from all over the catchment basin would tend to provide a pollen record of the basin-wide vegetation throughout the growing year. The presence of starch granules in this sample suggests that grass seeds were buried in these sediments at depths too great for germination. Samples RS3 and RS5 were recovered from separate subangular blocky to massive silt layers that likely represent sediment from a single flooding event. However, a subangular blocky layer also may be created through cumulative deposition of smaller, frequent events. Even if the material was deposited in multiple smaller events, the short time intervals between flood events and scouring of the surface deposit by the subsequent flood generally would prevent the accumulation and preservation of an elevated quantity of pollen. The pollen spectrum of sample RS3 contains an elevated Liguliflorae signal that is anomalous among the Red Smoke pollen samples. It is reminiscent of the signature in two of the pollen samples from the Stafford site. This distinctive pollen signature suggests that members of the chicory tribe of the sunflower family were pollinating at the time of the flood, in quantities large enough to increase their concentration even in the diluting flood sediments. Further, this is an indication that members of the chicory tribe were growing nearby. The lack of Liguliflorae aggregates and the extremely low pollen concentration suggests that the Liguliflorae

pollen was not introduced into the sediment through the direct burial of flower parts. Rather, the pollen was released from the flowers prior to burial or during the burial process. If this scenario is correct, the most likely season for the flooding event would be summer. Again, the moderate to moderately high quantity of starch granules in this sample suggests that grass seeds were buried within the flood sediments at a depth too great for germination and that they decayed, leaving some starches behind. A distinctive Low-Spine Asteraceae signature was noted in the pollen spectrum from sample RS5. LowSpine Asteraceae was observed at nearly 60 percent of the total pollen, which is more than double that noted for any other Red Smoke pollen sample. Following the argument presented above for sample RS3, the most likely timing for this flooding event (assuming a single event or dominant event record) is mid- to late summer when marsh elder, ragweed, and cocklebur flower. Pollen samples RS2 and RS4 show elevated concentrations of pollen when compared with the other three Red Smoke samples. Each of these samples was collected at the boundary between two separately described sedimentary layers; and although the boundaries are noted as gradual to diffuse, it appears that the floodplain surface materials are at least partially preserved, as evidenced by the pollen record. Elevated pollen concentrations are expected when a pollenbearing surface and/or flower materials are buried. Such conditions exist when pollen has sufficient time to accumulate and/or when plant parts are buried in situ or upon redeposition in flotsam deposits in slack water environments, along banks, or caught up in debris within the flooded area. This surface appears to have been open and accumulated pollen after sediment deposition, recording the time of year of the flood. When samples are collected at or immediately below this type of a boundary, it is possible to record the time of the flood, as it is the top of the layer that would have been available for pollen deposition immediately after the floodwaters receded. The pollen spectra for samples RS2 and RS4 both are dominated by pollen from bank and floodplain vegetation. Sample RS2 contains a large quantity of

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Figure 6.4 Phytoliths from the Red Smoke and Stafford sites.

Cheno-am pollen with an associated small number of medium-sized aggregates, a moderately large quantity of grass pollen with an associated large aggregate, and a moderate quantity of starch granules. Sample RS4 contains large quantities of both Cheno-am and Euphorbia pollen, with large numbers of variably sized aggregates associated with both pollen types. Elevated concentrations and aggregates associated with the dominant pollen forms suggest that floodplain surfaces, possibly including buried in situ or redeposited plant material, are represented in samples RS2 and RS4. The dominance of Cheno-am and Poaceae pollen in sample RS2 and Cheno-am and Euphorbia pollen in sample RS4 suggests that both flood events recorded most likely occurred in mid- to late summer. Phytoliths The Red Smoke phytolith record appears to represent a trend in local or regional grass population (Figure 6.4). Evidence for episodic flooding, so obvious in the pollen spectra, is lacking in the phytolith record. Festucoid phytoliths, representing cool-season

grasses, peak in sample RS3. Chloridoid short cells show a gradual increase from RS1 through RS5, whereas panicoid short cell frequencies run counter to those of chloridoid short cells, declining toward the upper portion of the record. Although these changes are relatively subtle, the patterns of panicoid and chloridoid phytoliths suggest a shift from a moister to a drier habitat in the sunny areas that support C4 grasses. Festucoid grass short cells increase toward the center of this record, suggesting a slight increase in cool-season grasses or shade toward the middle of this record. Fluctuations in phytolith frequencies may represent very short-term fluctuations in vegetation that was stripped by flooding, as the grass population should respond rapidly to changes in climatic conditions. They also may represent changes in the local water table. Volcanic ash fragments generally decrease in frequency from RS1 through RS5. Stafford Site The Stafford site is located along Lime Creek in an area where the eroded surface of the Elba terrace is present.

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This portion of the stratigraphic column is dominated by massive and horizontally laminated silt deposits and appears to have been deposited very rapidly. Two radiocarbon dates that are indistinguishable from one another were obtained from sediments near the top and bottom of the sampled portion of the column. The dates imply a very short period of depositional activity at approximately 10,500 B.P. This thick deposit is contemporary with the thick deposits associated with Occupation Level 1 at the Allen site on Medicine Creek. The terrace supports a vegetal environment consisting primarily of mixed grasses. Ten sediment samples were collected for pollen and phytolith analyses at varied intervals between 629 and 280 cm below the present surface of the terrace (Table 6.2). Pollen The pollen record for the Stafford site appears to be one of individual flood depositions (Figure 6.3). Approximately 3.5 m of deposits are bracketed by nearly identical radiocarbon ages at 10,500 RCYBP (May [chapter 3] discusses this in detail). The pollen record exhibits a base pattern of elevated Low-Spine Asteraceae and Rosaceae pollen frequencies, as well as fairly regular occurrences of Poaceae, High-Spine Asteraceae, and Liguliflorae, indicating that local vegetation included the group of the sunflower family including ragweed, cocklebur, and marsh elder that produce the Low-Spine Asteraceae-type (or Ambrosiatype) pollen, as well as members of the rose family, grasses, various other members of the sunflower family, and members of the chicory tribe of the sunflower family. Several trees within the rose family are noted to be common members of the vegetation community along streams, creeks, and rivers in this area and include various members of the genus Prunus (chokecherry, wild plum). In addition, during the Early Holocene, Liguliflorae pollen is far more widespread and abundant than it is in the pollen record from the middle or Late Holocene. The portions of the pollen record that suggest individual flood events represented by single pollen samples include the large quantity of Prunus-type pollen noted in sample SS7 (nearly 100 percent of the record),

accompanied by aggregates, and the large quantity of Salix pollen observed in sample SS10 (nearly 80 percent of the record), also accompanied by aggregates. Although the pollen spectra in samples SS7 and SS10 are very different from one another, they offer evidence resulting in very similar interpretations of depositional environment, history, and timing. Both Prunus and Salix (willow) tend to grow at or near the water’s edge, flower in spring or early summer, and produce copious quantities of flower debris. In the case of willow, the male inflorescences are called catkins. The most likely scenario to explain the signatures noted in samples SS7 and SS10 is that during spring or early summer flood events willow catkins or Prunus-type flowers were concentrated as flotsam in slack water environments, on banks, or around and within debris in the floodplain. As the water receded, much of the flotsam would be encapsulated in the silts and clays that would fall from the water column, thereby entrapping relatively large quantities of material to be covered in subsequent flood events. Sample SS7, which was recovered from the top of a sedimentary layer, and sample SS10, which was collected from the middle of a horizontally laminated layer, fortuitously appear to have contained flower material, likely concentrated as flotsam deposit. This portion of the pollen record suggests that floods probably occurred in June when Prunus pollinates and earlier, perhaps March or April, when Salix would be pollinating. It is interesting to note that the two samples that represent flood events are the two with the highest total pollen concentration values (more than 60 pollen per cubic centimeter of sediment). It appears that these deposits received large quantities of pollen from the trees or large shrubs that were pollinating along the creek bank as the sediments were deposited or immediately afterward. The pollen from locally pollinating shrubs and/or trees clearly overwhelmed the basic pollen signature that might have existed in the sediments that were being transported. Samples SS8 and SS9 represent the bottom and top, respectively, of a single sedimentary layer characterized by a subangular blocky structure and displaying abrupt upper and lower boundaries. The pollen

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Figure 6.5 Modeled temperature history for McCook, Nebraska, 14,000 RCYBP to present.

spectra of both SS8 and SS9 show anomalously elevated percentages of Liguliflorae pollen, similar to that noted in the Red Smoke sample RS3. As with sample RS3, the Stafford site samples SS8 and SS9 may reflect summertime deposition of flood sediments. Interestingly, both the Stafford site samples and sample RS3 were recovered from layers with subangular blocky structures. Differences in pollen frequencies between samples SS8 and SS9 may, in many cases, be the result of small count numbers dictated by extremely low pollen concentrations (25 and 30, respectively); however, the discrepancy noted between the pine pollen percentages is difficult to ignore and may be the result of additional accumulated pine pollen on the surface of the sedimentary layer. Phytoliths The stratigraphic phytolith record from the Stafford site appears to have two zones (Figure 6.4). The lower zone (samples SS1 to SS6) is characterized by moderate

to moderately low quantities of festucoid and chloridoid short cells and moderately small to moderate quantities of panicoid short cells. Volcanic ash sherd frequencies are highly variable but generally relatively large. This marks an interval of fairly wet and warm conditions and possibly a higher water table than later in the record. The upper zone (samples SS7 to SS10) is marked by a significant increase in chloridoid phytoliths accompanied by slightly increasing festucoid frequencies and a very small quantity of panicoid short cells. Available summer moisture appears to have declined during this time, perhaps as a result of either a shift in precipitation or a lowered water table, and short grasses were more abundant than tall grasses. The slight increase in festucoid phytoliths indicates a slight increase in cool-season grasses. The seasonality of flooding events noted in the pollen record is not present in the phytolith record, perhaps because the transported sediment contained an abundance of phytoliths representing the local grass population. The

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Figure 6.6 Modeled precipitation history for Cambridge, Nebraska, 14,000 RCYBP to present.

density of phytoliths is very similar to that of silt, so there should be no sorting of phytoliths from the silt layer when it is present. Pollen, on the other hand, is less dense than silt and is expected to be sorted and transported differently. Archaeoclimatic Models: Results We illustrate the local archaeoclimatic models here by examining overall temperature and precipitation and by focusing more closely on stream discharge in Medicine Creek. The closest climate data for precipitation are available from Cambridge, Nebraska, located at the confluence of Medicine Creek and the Republican River, some 15 km downstream from the study area; the closest climate data for temperature were collected at McCook, Nebraska, some 45 km to the west. Temperature is expected to exhibit very similar averages for both Cambridge and McCook, so this

substitution is not of concern. Figure 6.5 presents modeled mean annual and July temperatures for McCook, and Figure 6.6 models precipitation for Cambridge, over approximately the last 16,000 years (14,000 radiocarbon years). For the time period of particular interest here, the overall temperature and precipitation models mirror the pollen/phytolith results in showing steep increases in temperature and decreases in precipitation from 12,000 to 10,000 RCYBP. From 10,000 to 8000, these models suggest a slight reduction in July temperature but overall stability in mean annual temperature, along with a slight increase in annual precipitation and a marked increase in July precipitation, although there are fluctuations over time in all of these parameters (most dramatically the last of them). Despite these changes, the models also suggest that stream discharge declined only slightly over time, with July discharge

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Figure 6.7 Modeled discharge for Medicine Creek, 16,000 cal. B.P. to present.

being quite variable, at least at the century-to-century time scale of the models. Limited change in stream discharge, despite notable changes in precipitation, could reflect both the fairly large area drained by Medicine Creek and the contribution of local springs to its flow. This overall continuity is reflected in the relatively limited change evident in the pollen and phytolith data from the Medicine Creek cutbank site. Second, though overall temperature and precipitation interact with one another to create actual patterns of effective moisture in a given locality, stream discharge, which depends in large part on runoff, is one measure of the outcome of this interaction. Modeling stream discharge is based on measured stream discharge prior to the construction of Medicine Creek Dam. Figures 6.7 and 6.8 present modeled stream discharge for Medicine Creek for approximately the past 12,000 radiocarbon years: Figure 6.7 presents modeled

values of mean annual and July–August discharge, and Figure 6.8 presents modeled values of discharge for each month from March through July. Examining the annual and monthly models for March, April, May, June, and July suggests that intense flooding was typical during the Pleistocene and atypical today. However, a close look at the data set indicates that during the Holocene, June was the month of most intense floods. The most intense June floods during the past 12,000 radiocarbon years, modeled using 100-year averages, are noted between approximately 7000 and 5000 radiocarbon years B.P. Earlier than this, intense floods were modeled occasionally between 12,000 and 10,000 RCYBP and are modeled to have been most intense in either June or July. During the time interval just prior to 10,500 RCYBP, flooding peaked in May, June, and July floods. Intense floods change the upstream topography, which changes the

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Figure 6.8 Modeled monthly (March through July) stream discharge for Medicine Creek, 16,000 cal. B.P. to present.

subsequent flood pattern. Big bursts of flooding, such as the series of floods that produced the accumulation of 3.5 m of sediment at the Stafford site, probably within a few hundred years, often result in denuding an area of vegetation. Many of the radiocarbon ages for the Medicine Creek study have relatively large standard deviations; these ages are approximate, and it is difficult to compare the archaeoclimatic model, with averages of 100 years, with them. Therefore, one must consider that the time of floods represented at this site was not exactly 10,500 RCYBP but, rather, might have been somewhat earlier or later than this by several hundred years. Summary and Conclusions Identification of Pleistocene and Early Holocene vegetation has been the object of study for decades.

The Medicine Creek area is located in a little-studied portion of Nebraska, as previous paleoenvironmental studies have concentrated solely on the recovery of pollen from bogs. Pollen data are available from various sites in the eastern half of the Dakotas, Minnesota, single sites on the South Dakota–Nebraska border, and northeastern Kansas. These sites document the presence of a spruce forest until approximately 12,600 B.P. at the Rosebud site on the South Dakota–Nebraska state line (Watts and Wright 1966, in Wright 1970) and until later, perhaps 10,600 or even 9000 B.P., at more northerly sites (Wright 1970). Reduction in spruce pollen is noted to be abrupt in the records throughout most of these areas. Medicine Creek is located in southwestern Nebraska to the south of the Sand Hills. The Nebraska Sand Hills are interpreted as having been formed by Pleistocene

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periglacial winds in an environment described first as a desert containing large transverse dunes formed by northerly winds and later as an area of patchy vegetation with longitudinal dunes built by northwesterly winds superimposed on the older dunes. The assumption is that there was very little vegetation in this area, and no interpretation of a spruce forest to the south of this area has previously been made. The nearest spruce forests identified by pollen analysis are at Rosebud, South Dakota, and Muscatah Bog in northeastern Kansas. The termination of spruce forest in this area of southwestern Nebraska appears to have come over 1,000 years earlier than that documented at Rosebud on the northern border of Nebraska. The spruce forest at Muscatah in northeastern Kansas terminated between 15,800 and 11,300 B.P. and has commonly been presumed to have terminated approximately 12,000 B.P. based on other evidence from the Great Plains. It is probable that additional work in the Lime Creek sequence will provide us with both further definition to the spruce zone and a much better identification of the time of the termination of the spruce zone in the pollen record for this area. The phytolith record from Lime Creek indicates that the composition of grasses on the prairie in the Pleistocene and Early Holocene was considerably different from that of today. Tall grasses were much more abundant, at least until 7900 B.P., than they are at present, probably as a result of a higher water table in the past. Further definition of the phytolith record through analysis of samples higher in the core, representing more recent times, will add considerably to our understanding of the change in grass populations on the prairie between the Pleistocene/Early Holocene and the present. The abundance of grass phytoliths and 12 percent Picea pollen in the sample from the Pleistocene at Lime Creek suggests that grasses were abundant in this area, indicating the possibility that the spruce forest was sparse, with a considerable understory that included grasses, or that a mosaic of prairie and forest existed in this area during the Pleistocene. Further study, at closer intervals for both pollen and phytoliths, as well as extending the vertical record to the present, is clearly indicated for this area

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to more fully define vegetation patterns. Data from these sites have provided information concerning local and regional vegetation, as well as the probable timing of flood events. The pollen record from both Stafford and Red Smoke is consistent with rapid sediment deposition. In general, pollen concentrations were very low (between 1.8 and 11 pollen per cubic centimeter of sediment). Only four samples had concentrations larger, which ranged from 39 to a high of 213 pollen per cubic centimeter of sediment. Pollen spectra and frequencies vary radically between samples, indicating the season of flood deposition. At Red Smoke, samples date to approximately 9820 B.P. Although the lowest sample here appears to provide a mixed pollen signal for local floodplain and upland pollen, samples above it exhibit elevated Cheno-am pollen frequencies, indicating the probability that flooding likely occurred in summer. The large quantity of Euphorbia pollen in RS4 is consistent with this interpretation. RS3 exhibits an elevated Liguliflorae pollen frequency, suggesting a summer flood. RS5 is also dominated by pollen representing species that suggest flooding in mid- to late summer. The Stafford site sediments accumulated prior to those at the Red Smoke site. Samples SS1 through SS5 exhibit mixed pollen spectra indicating year-round pollen accumulation. However, sample SS6 produced pollen indicating flooding during mid- to late summer, and samples above this indicate flooding in spring to early summer. The pollen record indicates flooding in mid- to late summer in SS6 and RS5 and in spring to early summer or summer in samples SS7, SS8, SS9, SS10, RS2, RS3, and RS4. At the Stafford site flooding appears to change from an unrecognizable time of year in the lower samples (SS1 to SS5), to mid- to late summer in SS6, to spring or summer in the upper samples (SS7 to SS10). It is during this upper interval (SS7–SS10) that the change in grass population occurs. During this interval short grasses dominate and tall grasses appear to be rare. This change in grass population is likely the result of flooding in the basin. The phytolith records at Stafford and Red Smoke do not vacillate wildly like the pollen record. Instead, they indicate continuing trends through the stratigraphy.

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At both sites, chloridoid phytoliths increased through time, indicating an increase in short grasses that prefer warm, dry summers, which may result from a shift in precipitation, less summer precipitation, or a lowered water table. At Stafford, panicoid phytoliths were more abundant in the lower samples, declining as the chloridoid phytoliths increased; this pattern is not evident at Red Smoke. Festucoid phytoliths, representing grasses that grow in the cool seasons of the spring and fall, do not show clear temporal trends at either site. The phytolith record is a proxy for grass populations that change with yearly climatic fluctuations. Changes in phytolith frequencies in these stratigraphic records may well represent changes in grass populations in the drainage basin from which the sediments were removed for deposition at these sites. In addition, a portion of the phytolith record may be obtained from grasses growing in the floodplain. Changes observed in the phytolith record suggest summer drying in both records, which appears to have altered the grass population by increasing the short grasses and decreasing the tall grass population. Given the fact that these are not closely spaced stratigraphic samples, it is important to remember that the phytolith record probably represents averaging of the grass signatures over time. The shifts in chloridoid phytoliths strongly imply a regional shift from more mesic conditions and probably a higher water table to drier summer conditions, which may have resulted from a change in the timing of precipitation, suggesting less precipitation during the summer and a subsequent reduction in the water table. Indeed, much of this shift appears to have occurred at the same time as the shift to late spring/early summer flooding indicated in the Stafford site data. However, some of the shift toward short grasses may also be the result of denuding of the ground surface caused by flooding in the basin, particularly in more upland areas. The major goals of this analysis were to identify both the pattern of environmental variation within the Medicine Creek study area and the pattern of change in the environment of this area over time, as well as to define the character of the environment at the Allen site itself. The results reported here contribute substantially to these goals and highlight the importance

of sampling multiple localities within a region rather than focusing attention only on one. The best example of this is in the phytolith data, which show an increase in moisture-loving grass species on the main stem of Medicine Creek but which show clear increases in more arid-adapted species in upland areas. Overall, the Paleoindian vegetation of the study area was dominated by more tall and mid-grasses, more deciduous arboreal species, and a thicker understory along Medicine Creek than at present, with similar vegetation extending up the lower reaches of Lime Creek. Moving farther up Lime Creek, though, the grass population shifted toward more warm-season short species, arboreal species shifted toward pine and juniper, and the understory thinned. Near the head of Lime Creek, the landscape was largely open. The general pattern of these differences, although not the exact species and percent composition of species, is similar to that evident at Medicine Creek today and presumably reflects the greater access to water in and adjacent to the main Medicine Creek Valley and the progressive reduction in available moisture in the upper reaches of tributary drainage. Over time, the area along Medicine Creek itself seems to have changed little; local moisture there may actually have increased. Away from this area, though, the data show an overall trend toward thinner vegetation made up of more arid-adapted species. Both the models and an understanding of the environmental constraints on the various species identified here indicate that these temporal changes reflect an Early Holocene trend toward a warmer and drier climate. The models also suggest that much of this change may have been completed by 10,000 RCYBP, with the later portions of the Paleoindian period possibly showing little further change. Progressive shifts in the pollen and, especially, the phytolith data, though, imply that the model results may underestimate the degree of change after 10,000. These data (along with those in the next chapter) also make it possible to identify the character of the vegetation in the vicinity of the Allen site. Occupation of the Allen site is contemporary with the record at the Medicine Creek cutbank and Red Smoke and Stafford

Paleoenvironmental Interpretations of the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene /

sites and with the upper portion of the record at Lime Creek. This portion of the record is characterized as prairie, with moderate to high grass frequencies; occasional sedge; large quantities of composites, such as sumpweed and ragweed, probably growing in the floodplain along the creek; Cheno-ams; and various other shrubs and herbs. Pine might have been present locally along drainages or scattered across the landscape. Hardwoods and other deciduous trees were probably confined to the permanently watered portions of drainages; here, these include the main stem of Medicine Creek and the lower portions of Lime Creek. The most probable reconstruction of local vegetation is that of a mixed prairie that included only small

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quantities of sagebrush. Sagebrush was more abundant than at present throughout most of the Early Holocene record, though. This area appears to have supported largely grasses and forbs. The upland prairie probably looked considerably different during the Pleistocene and Early Holocene than it does today, as the grass population contained a large quantity of tall grasses, as opposed to being limited to mostly short grasses as it is today. The presence of tall, short, and cool grasses appears to have been nearly uniform in the prehistoric record at Lime Creek. This prairie would have provided an excellent habitat for a variety of game animals that could be hunted by human inhabitants of the area.

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Chapter 7

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains Based on Paleobotanical and Paleoethnobotanical Remains from the

Medicine Creek Area L. Anthony Zalucha

This chapter examines the surviving plant remains from the 1948 excavations at the Allen site, which consist almost entirely of charcoal. This material is supplemented by noncultural charcoal and uncarbonized wood dating from between 28,000 and 9000 B.P. recovered from the lower portions of an 18-mdeep core taken from the nearby Lime Creek site. The report reconstructs as far as possible through the use of these macrobotanical remains the vegetation that existed when the site was occupied. This setting has obvious implications about former climatic conditions. The wood- and charcoal-based findings serve as a cross-check for the more comprehensive vegetational/climatic reconstruction based on pollen (see chapter 6). A secondary goal of the research is the determination of those woods used by the prehistoric inhabitants. Natural Vegetation of the Study Area The modern natural woodlands of Nebraska consist of eastern and western taxa that have moved into the state along streams. Eastern components are far more common than western ones, with elements of the two vegetational types meeting in the upper reaches of the Niobrara and Republican rivers. In order to understand the Allen site charcoal, we must understand this baseline woody vegetation. Description of the associated prairie vegetation is beyond the scope of this charcoal-oriented report.

Frontier County lies in southwest-central Nebraska in an area of loess plains dissected by southeast-flowing tributaries of the Republican River. The coarse loess blanket, which may reach 150 ft in thickness, is highly susceptible to erosion once the sod is broken. The result is a characteristically rolling topography punctuated by bluffs. Along streams precipitous canyons marked by frequent springs have developed. This river gorge topography is termed the “springbranch” canyon type by Pound and Clements (1900). The Allen site was observed eroding from a 30 ft springbranch cliff wall. Average annual precipitation is an important limiting factor in the vegetation of Frontier County, the modern figure averaging just over 22 in (U.S. Department of Agriculture 1941). Proximity to streams is thus crucial for woody vegetation. Not surprisingly, the vegetation of the springbranch canyons is very different from that of the rolling loess hills between watercourses. The latter areas support a mixed prairie composed of short and mid-height grasses. The canyons, by contrast, maintain gallery forests derived from the bur oak–elm–walnut type (Pound and Clements 1900) of the Missouri River trench. These woodlands also often extend out onto the stream bluffs. In general, in western Nebraska streams begin where runoff in a ravine cuts through prairie sod to form a small channel. With increasing width, pioneer tree species with windblown seeds such as willows (Salix spp.) and cottonwood (Populus deltoides var.

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains /

occidentalis) begin to line the banks. Waterways at this stage of development may be intermittent unless supplemented by springs. Increased width and downcutting favor the establishment of a number of shrub species as well as scattered small individuals of green ash (Fraxomis pennsylvanica) and box elder (Acer negundo). Larger-seeded trees generally become established only with the development of a wide floodplain and sheltering banks (Weaver 1965). The following description summarizes the dominant and characteristic woody plants of the springbranch canyon zone as they probably existed at the time of Euro-American settlement. It also discusses the zone’s relationship to other woody communities. It is not exhaustive, however. Many additional minor taxa also occurred, any of which could become locally important. The result is thus not a technical botanical description but a general sketch providing an overall feeling for the plant community. Terminology follows Fernald (1950). At the time of Euro-American contact, two major forest associations, the red oak–hickory and bur oak–elm–walnut communities, were found along and near the Missouri River in Nebraska (Pound and Clements 1900). The former was far more common but existed only in relatively close association with the river and lower reaches of its tributaries. The latter was less widely distributed. It occurred most frequently in the southeastern part of the state especially on the Big and Little Blue rivers and along Salt Creek. This community was overwhelmingly dominated by bur oak (Quercus macrocarpa) and by American elm (Ulmus americana), with walnut (Juglans nigra) somewhat less common. A number of lesser trees also occurred. The shrub layer in southeastern Nebraska was composed primarily of wild plum (Prunus americana) and chokecherry (P. virginiana; Pound and Clements 1900; Weaver 1965). Unlike the red oak–hickory community, this bur oak–elm–walnut association extended along streams in an altered form far to the west. As the association moved westward, species dropped out one by one, with the remaining taxa often changing their growth form as an adaptation to drier conditions. Rivers and creeks in

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the study area thus supported a greatly attenuated and altered version of the association. Western species were typically present only to the west of Frontier County. Banks and sandbars along Medicine Creek were colonized by peachleaved willow (Salix amygdaloides) and slender willow (S. exigua). The former is a small tree; the latter, a shrubby species that may form dense thickets. Slender willow is apparently the obsolete taxon S. fluviatilis of Pound and Clements (1900:239), a low shrubby mass distinctive of sandbars on the Republican River and its tributaries. Cottonwoods shared the bank environment. In contrast to the willows, these were large trees, reaching 30 m or more in height. All three taxa were also seen in the low meadows and wet canyons of a stream’s more developed reaches. Accompanying these plants was false indigo (Amorpha fruticosa), a shrub of banks and canyons. Buffalo berry (Shepherdia argentea) was another shrub sometimes seen on bars. Box elder was closely associated with the riverbank species. Across much of its range box elder is typical of open woodlands and is a relatively large tree, reaching a maximum height of about 23 m. In the Republican River area, however, it was only found close to streams or near canyon springs, and drier conditions reduced it to a large shrub of perhaps 4 m (Pound and Clements 1900:231). Green ash was a frequent associate of box elder. It responded to the Frontier County environment in a similar way, being reduced from 25 m in average height to a small tree (Pound and Clements 1900:274). Although common close to streams, it was better able to withstand drier conditions, forming dense thickets in lower canyon areas and scattered through upper areas and even bluff tops. It shared these poor, dry soil areas with eastern red cedar (Juniperus virginiana). Pound and Clements (1900:227) list American elm as the most important constituent of streambased forests in Nebraska. Of the major trees in the bur oak–elm–walnut association, it is one of two that unequivocally existed in the Medicine Creek area when Euro-Americans arrived. American elm was a floodplain tree of mature drainages and could reach large sizes even in Frontier County.

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The other major association tree present in Frontier County was hackberry (Celtis occidentalis). Its growth form was greatly altered, however. In the Missouri River area it was a tall tree that could reach 30 m in height. Along Medicine Creek moisture constraints reduced it to a low, straggling, thin-trunked shrub. The floodplain forests supported a number of characteristic shrub species. Bittersweet (Celastrus scandens) and blackberry (Rubus occidentalis) were commonly seen, with wild black currant (Ribes americanum) and wolfberry (Symphoricarpos occidentalis) also typical, though less frequent. Woody climbers such as Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) and wild grape (Vitis vulpina) were often observed in treetops. Poison ivy (Rhus radicans) did not assume its climbing habit here, growing instead as an herb or low bush. A number of other trees may have been present at historic contact. Like many other bur oak–elm–walnut trees, slippery elm (Ulmus rubra) was reaching the limit of its range in the study area. Little (1971) was unable to document collections of this floodplain tree from Frontier County. A few specimens were found in Hayes County directly to the west, however, suggesting that it could have been locally present 200 years ago. The situation is similar for bur oak. Its continuous range ends about halfway across the state, but islands of it are scattered to the west, one occurring in Frontier County (Little 1971). In this area it is a tree of bluff faces. Individuals this far west would have been small, from low straggling bushes at the bluff crest to 3 to 5 m in height at the bluff base. A number of lesser trees and shrubs possessed comparable distributions. Roughleaf dogwood (Cornus drummondi) extended west to Dawson County just northeast of Frontier County. The continuous western range of American elder (Sambucus canadensis) ends in the eastern Platte River Valley. Rhus glabra, smooth sumac, reaches Gosper County, just to the east to Frontier County. Yet islands of each of these taxa also occurred either in or very close to the Medicine Creek area, suggesting that they may have been available historically. The continuous ranges of two other species, red osier dogwood (Cornus stolonifera) and American

plum (Prunus americana), reach their western limits within Frontier County (Little 1976, 1977). Most of the remaining major taxa in the bur oak– elm–walnut community penetrated west little farther than southeastern Nebraska. However, at least two traveled a significant distance up the Republican River Valley. Honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos) and walnut persisted at least halfway up the river’s course in Nebraska (Little 1971). Neither appears to have reached Frontier County, however. A third tree, ironwood (Ostrya virginiana), was found all the way to the state’s western border along the Niobrara. In the southern part of the state, by contrast, it was known only near the Missouri. Among the minor taxa, burning bush (Euonymous atropurpureus) possessed a distribution like that of ironwood. In summary, the historic woody vegetation of the Medicine Creek area consisted primarily of several elements of the eastern Nebraska bur oak–elm–walnut plant community. These trees and shrubs, adapted to drier conditions, had moved west along the Republican River to form attenuated gallery forests on it and its major tributaries. Stream banks and floodplains supported the largest and most diverse woodlands, which often contained dense thickets of shrubby understory. A less diverse assemblage of xerophytic and dry-adapted plants grew on canyon walls and bluff tops. Theoretical Considerations and Methods Archaeological Charcoal Archaeological charcoal provides important data about past vegetation and its climatic setting. However, because of human intervention, the analysis of archaeological charcoal is not a straightforward matter. Unpredictable variables of woody resource selection as well as of charcoal production, deposition, preservation, and recovery mean that a charcoal assemblage cannot be directly related to the plant community that gave rise to it (Zalucha 1982). Objective and subjective judgments of a particular wood’s task suitability lead to cultural selection of wood resources. A rare but prized wood may be used far out of proportion to its actual commonness. A common but low-quality wood may be significantly

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains /

underutilized. In addition, the way in which any given fire is built, maintained, and extinguished is unique. Length of burning time, fire temperature, density and dryness of the fuel, and reuse of hearths further complicate the situation. In a long or hot fire the densest or wettest fuel may be completely consumed, whereas in a short or relatively cool fire the driest or most porous wood may be well preserved. Fire residues may be blown, trampled, or otherwise scattered about, adding further potential bias to an excavated assemblage. Postdepositional stress such as freezing and thawing, frost heaving, and rodent disturbance may cause such excessive fragmentation of susceptible specimens as to preclude the identification of important taxa. Finally, inappropriate, nonrandom archaeological collection techniques may cause taxa to be significantly overor underrepresented. Thus, from a simple percentage breakdown by taxon of identified charcoal, one cannot validly infer that those taxa grew or were used in the same or even similar proportions prehistorically. Methods have yet to be developed that will fully control for the many biases inherent in human fires as unique events. However, random selection of specimens drawn from charcoal systematically recovered by floatation from as many fire-related contexts as possible will minimize these difficulties (Zalucha 1982). The Allen site, however, was excavated prior to the advent of floatation for the recovery of plant macrofossils. Its excavated charcoal assemblage is the result of the occasional nonrandom hand collection of relatively large, obvious specimens noticed in hearths and general levels. When nonrandom collection is added to the many difficulties basic to archaeological charcoal analysis, the possibility of error related to a biased sample is especially high. Through the use of size-grade analysis, however, it is at least possible to ensure that the taxa identified are representative of those actually collected. Size-grade analysis ensures that taxa are not overlooked either because of differential fragmentation caused by unpredictable fire-specific variables or because of postexcavation stresses (Zalucha 1982). Therefore, prior to analysis the charcoal was size-graded into fractions of >6.30 mm, >3.35 mm–<6.30 mm, >1.0 mm–<3.35 mm, and <1.0 mm. Twenty specimens were then selected at

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random for identification from the three larger grades. Unidentifiable specimens were not replaced with new selections. The smallest size-grade was not examined because specimens in this range are almost never identifiable. The charcoal was identified using a binocular incident light microscope with a maximum magnification of 1,200×. Geological Charcoal Charcoal and wood recovered from geological contexts do not suffer from the innate cultural biases of archaeological material. Whether the source is fire, flood, deadwood fall, or some other natural phenomenon, their production and deposition are random events. Even though cultural bias is eliminated in geological samples, many of the other difficulties of archaeological material persist. Multiple samples from a wide horizontal area should still be studied in order to minimize problems caused by multiple identifications from the same piece of wood, postdepositional disturbances, and differential preservation. Nevertheless, relative proportions of species within geological samples are far more likely to reflect ancient local forest structure than those in archaeological samples. This can lead to measures of cultural wood use when compared with contemporary archaeological distributions. It is important to remember that analyses of both archaeological and geological wood and charcoal are interpretations and that other interpretations are possible. For this reason it is vital that vegetational and climatic reconstructions using these materials be performed only in conjunction with nonmacrofloral data unaffected by cultural biases. Such resources may include particle size analysis, terrestrial gastropods, small mammal bones, and pollen analysis. Of these, the last provides the most comprehensive and commonly available cross-check for inferences drawn from wood and charcoal. Most paleoclimatic reconstructions based on these types of data are either unaffected by human intervention or reflect actual human environmental manipulation. Therefore, in cases of conflict between the results of archaeological charcoal and such data sets, the burden of proof lies with the charcoal analyst. The most

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appropriate role for charcoal in vegetational/climatic studies is thus to fine-tune an existing environmental picture derived from more objective sources. Three cores were drilled into the RT-2 terrace along Lime Creek about 1 mi northwest of the Allen site (see chapter 3). The Allen site as well as the roughly contemporaneous Lime Creek (25FT41) and Red Smoke (25FT42) sites lie in alluvium beneath this terrace. Twelve sample locations in the lowest 3.7 m of the 18-m-deep Drill Hole 3 were found to contain scattered specimens of charcoal and uncarbonized wood, the latter preserved because of waterlogged conditions. Associated radiocarbon dates showed that these sample locations spanned the period from 28,000 B.P. to 9100 B.P., the most recent thus overlapping with at least the earliest Allen site occupation. Charcoal and uncarbonized wood did not occur in the same contexts. Little material was present in any single context, with at most a few dozen minute specimens occurring. Structural examination of each wood or charcoal sample indicated that only a single original specimen was represented in each sample, the multiple fragments resulting from postdepositional fracturing. Thus, at each temporal location within the core former vegetational structure is reflected by only a single taxon where identifiable. The geologic coring associated with the Allen site project therefore yielded only the most limited information about Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene woodlands. The sampling regimen and the number and variety of plant macrofossils recovered were insufficient at any depth to allow vegetational reconstruction. The Paleoclimatic Literature Unfortunately, the paleoclimatic literature for the central Great Plains before and during the Allen site occupations is limited, with few pertinent botanical, geomorphological, small mammal, or gastropod studies closer than northwestern Iowa. Pollen profiles from the Great Plains are rare because of the scarcity of suitable Holocene deposits. The few existing palynological studies are handicapped either by a lack of time depth or by inadequate dating.

There is general agreement among paleoclimatologists that spruce (Picea spp.) and pine (Pinus spp.) woodlands prevailed in the central Great Plains during the Woodfordian (ca. 22,000–12,000 B.P.), replacing the sagebrush (Artemisia spp.) steppes of the late Farmdalian (Wells and Stewart 1987). The exact nature of these woodlands, however, is unclear. Wells and Stewart (1987) present evidence about late Woodfordian vegetation. They recovered cones, twigs, and leaves associated with carbonized spruce in Harlan County, Nebraska, which dated to 14,770 B.P. Species of spruce cannot be distinguished on the basis of wood anatomy alone. However, the additional structures found allowed them to document the presence of Picea pungens (blue spruce). Similar macrofossils established the presence of Pinus flexilis (limber pine) in Graham County, Kansas. Combining this information with gastropod and small vertebrate data from several sites in western Kansas and Nebraska, Wells and Stewart suggest that terminal Pleistocene vegetation in the central Great Plains was taigalike. They propose a succession of vegetational phases in which, following fires, an herbaceous community was succeeded first by aspen-parkland (Populus spp.), then by aspen-spruce forest, and finally by mature spruce forest. With the onset of the Holocene most authorities agree that Great Plains boreal forest rapidly gave way to grassland as glaciers retreated (Wendland 1978). Webb, Cushing, and Wright characterize this change as “abrupt” (1983:162). By contrast, palynological sites to the northeast such as Kirchner Marsh in southern Minnesota (Wright et al. 1963), Lake West Okoboji in northwestern Iowa (Van Zant 1979), and Pickerel Lake in southeastern South Dakota (Watts and Bright 1968) show a period of deciduous forest lasting from about 11,000 B.P. to about 9500 B.P. Pollen (Baker and Van Zant 1980) and small mammals (Semken 1980) from the Cherokee Sewer site suggest that conditions in northwestern Iowa between 9000 and 10,000 B.P. were cooler and more moist than today. Apparently mesic deciduous forest prevailed, with areas of prairie invading drier openings. After 9000 B.P. forests decreased while prairie expanded as conditions became progressively warmer and drier. Hudak’s

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains /

(1984) analysis of small mammals from the Dows local biota in north-central Iowa agrees with the Cherokee Sewer results. However, he extends the period of moist deciduous forest and open woodlands to 8400 B.P. There is some reason to believe that postboreal forest woodlands also existed briefly in at least portions of the Great Plains. Webb, Cushing, and Wright (1983:162) see prairie establishment there in general by 10,000 B.P. Interestingly, however, without elaborating they refer to the absence of any substantial period of deciduous forest. But between 11,000 and 9000 B.P. in northeastern Kansas, Gruger (1973) has identified a mixed deciduous forest/prairie phase structurally similar to that seen in Iowa. This forest was characterized by Ostrya and Corylus (hazel). After 10,000 B.P. prairie began to increase in extent. Gruger likens conditions in this period to those seen in southeastern South Dakota 1,000–2,000 years later. The prairie– galley forest pattern typical of modern southwestcentral Nebraska commenced in Kansas only after 9000 B.P. This is consistent with Holliday’s (1985, 1989) research, which indicates that warm and dry conditions began on the Southern High Plains at about that time. Likewise, gastropods from the Hudson-Meng site (Agenbroad 1977) in western Nebraska imply cooler, more mesic conditions in the Central Plains until about 9000 B.P. Using plant geographical data, Wells (1970) argues for the existence of postboreal woodlands prior to prairie establishment. The postglacial migration of woodland species into and through the Great Plains is suggested by a number of modern species disjunctions between the Black Hills and eastern and southern areas. Bur oak, ironwood, American elm, American hazelnut (Corylus americana), and beaked hazelnut (C. cornuta) exist in the Black Hills as distant outliers of the eastern deciduous forest. Most significantly, Wells sees evidence of gambel oak (Quercus gambelii) introgression among Black Hills bur oak. Because gambel oak is a southwestern tree that requires warm, wet conditions, he views the introgression as evidence of that tree’s northward movement into the Great Plains following boreal forest withdrawal. Modern islands of Great

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Plains coniferous forest such as those in Nebraska’s Wildcat Hills and Pine Ridge area are seen as relict populations. Wells (1970:1576, 1581) believes that these stands were protected by abrupt topographic features from fires that eliminated woodlands in other areas and maintained the rapidly invading grasslands. Two pollen studies exist from central Nebraska. Sears (1961) analyzed pollen from a lake in Valentine County. Unfortunately, this profile began only about 5,000 years ago. Watts and Wright (1966) analyzed a profile dating from 12,630 B.P. taken from an alluviated lowland between two dunes in the sand hills. An unusual early assemblage of spruce forest in hollows interspersed with sagebrush on dunes abruptly gave way to woodlands dominated by probable ponderosa pine (Pinus ponderosa). This unit, structurally similar to modern vegetation along the Niobrara, gradually decreases in importance. Unfortunately, the vegetational shift and the subsequent changes in the pine woodlands are undated. In summary, an examination of the sparse paleoclimatic literature for the central Great Plains leaves us with an ambiguous picture of Holocene vegetational changes before 9000 B.P. Wendland (1978), Webb et al. (1983), and Watts and Wright (1966) seem to discount the notion of a deciduous forest phase intermediate between boreal forest and grassland stages. The two former articles, however, only survey the literature, whereas Watts and Wright’s study suggests at least a brief coniferous forest interval. The work of Gruger (1973) documents a lengthy period of relatively extensive deciduous forest in the EastCentral Plains, and Wells’s (1970) plant geographical speculations raise interesting possibilities about early tree migrations. Overall, those articles based on fieldwork agree that prior to 9000 B.P. conditions were cooler than today and much cooler than later in the Holocene. Most studies also agree that more moist conditions prevailed at this time. Even if forests did exist in the interval between boreal and grassland/gallery forest vegetation, it is not clear whether these were primarily coniferous, deciduous, or a mosaic of the two.

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Results Geological Specimens The 12 samples from Drill Hole 3 at the Lime Creek site each produced single specimens of charcoal or other carbonized plant material. Sample 1 came from the base of the core. This zone, which produced a corrected radiocarbon date of 27,970±1190 B.P. (TX-6774), contained gymnosperm wood. The identification of gymnosperms typically depends on the morphology of ray cell pitting, with various genera exhibiting supposedly distinctive structures. In fact, however, there is often considerable overlap between pit types, making identification difficult or impossible. This was the case in sample 1. This specimen may represent either Abies spp. (fir) or Juniperus spp. (juniper). The former might seem the more likely tree to be growing in the Central Plains during full glaciation because it is the more typically boreal genus. However, Fredlund and Jaumann’s (1987) survey of Late Wisconsinan Central Plains pollen assemblages shows a significant juniper component (<10 percent) at nearly all sites, whereas Abies is not reported, and Cummings et al. (chapter 6) found Juniperus but no Abies pollen at Lime Creek. However, fir is a usual, if minor, constituent of many late glacial sites outside the Central Plains. Samples 2–8 contained the most interesting and informative specimens from the core. This 70-cm band encompassed some 14,000 years of deposition, with sample 9 dating to 13,720±530 B.P. (TX-6775). Each sample from this period represents spruce (Picea spp.). This uniformity does not necessarily imply spruce’s dominance in terminal Pleistocene Great Plains woodlands, however, because each depositional episode is characterized by only a single specimen. But spruce was probably an important element given its usual prominence in periglacial environments. Given Wells and Stewart’s (1987) identification of blue spruce near the study area, the Lime Creek specimens may well represent Picea pungens. Unfortunately, insufficient data are present to address their taiga model. Sample 9 contained unidentified gymnosperm wood. This specimen resembles Juniperus, although insufficient characters were present to allow even an

identification at the “cf ” (“compares favorably”) level. The wood is definitely not Picea. The three remaining plant-bearing core samples date from the Early Holocene. Unlike the other samples, this material is carbonized. Sample 23 is bracketed by corrected dates of 10,090±450 B.P. (TX-6776) and 10,040±270 B.P. (TX-6777). It contained only several specimens of unknown nonwoody plant material. Sample 26, from which the latter date was partially obtained, contained three unidentified fragments of ring-porous angiosperm charcoal that had originally constituted a single specimen. Also present were a carbonized seed belonging to the Solanaceae and a number of specimens of unidentified nonwoody plant material. Sample 31 consisted of probable charred grapevine (cf Vitis spp). Species of Vitis occupy a variety of habitats but are especially common on riverbanks and in thickets in dry to rich woodlands. The riverine and gallery forest environment along Lime and Medicine creeks would have provided an ideal grape environment. Archaeological Charcoal Allen site identified charcoal specimen counts are shown in Table 7.1. In general, the Allen site charcoal was very poorly preserved. Usually specimens in the 3.35–6.30 mm size-grade are easily identifiable, and even the 1.0–3.35 mm grade typically yields a 50 to 60 percent identification rate. Although the Allen site specimens appeared well preserved, normal sectioning and breaking techniques produced extreme surface smearing or even specimen disintegration. The reason for this extreme friability is not clear. Neither their age nor their geological context appears to be responsible, for I have examined material of similar antiquity from nearby Nebraska counties without experiencing this difficulty. Perhaps heat or length of burning time is responsible: the Allen site specimens may represent a very soft, “almost ash” stage of charcoal. As noted earlier, hand collection of charcoal tends to favor large, obvious specimens. Although varying amounts of charcoal were present in the samples, most Allen site units contained less than 1 g of material. Large numbers of specimens, heavily concentrated in the smaller size-grades, were usually present in each.

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains /

These facts suggest that, at the time of excavation, that portion of the assemblage available for hand collection was dominated by a few relatively small pieces of charcoal that subsequently fragmented heavily. If this is correct, we may reasonably expect little variability within proveniences. This was indeed the case. In only one instance was more than one wood definitely present in a single sample and, among cf-level identifications, only two samples included woods of clearly different structures. This near absence of intraprovenience variability, coupled with small sample weights, suggests that most collections were originally of single specimens. This conclusion is not contradicted by those samples in which Celtis or Ulmus identifications were accompanied by specimens that may represent either genus. Celtis and Ulmus are difficult to distinguish, especially in small specimens such as those from the Allen site. In no instance were definite identifications of both taxa present in the same sample. It is therefore likely that specimens listed as Celtis/Ulmus represent Celtis in units where that tree is definitely present and Ulmus where that tree definitely occurs. Where no specimens can be identified beyond the Celtis/Ulmus level, either tree is equally likely. In many samples, large lumps of consolidated ash were also collected in addition to charcoal. The hand collection of a few, relatively small charcoal specimens along with large amounts of ash per sample suggests that many prehistoric fires were relatively hot and long. The reuse of hearths could result in the same phenomenon. Occupation Level (OL) 1 is represented by charcoal from 31 proveniences. The woods of four trees (Morus rubra [red mulberry], Ulmus, Acer, and Celtis) are present. Unequivocal mulberry occurs in only one context, although possible specimens are also present in two others. Elm is found in seven units and is probably present in two others. Maple is definitely present only in one sample, although probable specimens are also found in three other proveniences. Celtis occurs in three contexts, with likely specimens in two additional collections. This charcoal almost surely represents hackberry, although C. reticulata (netleaf hackberry) cannot be absolutely ruled out for at least some of the

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Table 7.1: Charcoal Identifications by Stratigraphic Level at the Allen Site Species



Level

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

Acer spp. 4 cf. Acer spp. 14 Celtis spp. 33 cf. Celtis spp. 2 Morus rubra 2 cf. Morus rubra 2 Ulmus americana 1 Ulmus cf. americana 2 Ulmus spp. 15 cf. Ulmus spp. 20 Celtis/Ulmus 27 Celtis/Morus/Ulmus 0 Ring porous 16 Diffuse porous 6 Unidentified 217

0 0 0 0 2 0 1 1 21 2 0 20 4 0 24

6 0 14 0 0 0 0 0 12 9 3 14 20 3 39

specimens. The remaining units contain charcoal that, because of poor preservation or structural similarity between taxa, could not be identified. Hundreds of calcified and burned seeds, identified as hackberry by the excavators, occurred at the site. I examined the remaining samples of these specimens and confirmed that they represent Celtis occidentalis. The seeds, which were recovered from six loess samples, were reported by Holder and Wike (1949:261–262) as being in questionable association with cultural remains. Both burned and calcified hackberry seeds occurred in all three cultural levels. Although none was in direct association with the occupation areas, concentrations of burned and calcified specimens were present immediately above and below the OL 1 contexts. Although prehistoric use of hackberry cannot be conclusively demonstrated, the fruits are edible. Whether utilized or not, the specimens demonstrate the presence of Celtis in the central Great Plains at the beginning of the Holocene and strengthen the presumption that the Celtis charcoal represents C. occidentalis. The nonrandom collection technique employed, the lack of species diversity, and the large number of

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unidentified specimens make it impossible to fully reconstruct the OL 1 vegetation. However, three conclusions about the Early Holocene environment of the central Great Plains may be drawn from the data: first, conditions were significantly cooler and wetter than today; second, gallery forest existed in the Medicine Creek drainage; third, ancient woodlands existed in a richer form than those known historically. The presence of red mulberry in OL 1 clearly indicates a more mesic past environment. This tree does not occur in the modern vegetation of Frontier County. In Nebraska it is primarily a species of the bluff and meadow region just west of the Missouri River. There, it thrives on moist sites in the broad bottomlands or in rich upland areas with at least 30 in of average annual precipitation, some 8 in more than is currently available in the study area. The prehistoric presence of mulberry far to the west of its modern range suggests significantly cooler and wetter conditions during OL 1 times. The relationship between these variables is problematical. Although the mulberry establishes that more moisture was available to plants than is the case today, this could have been the result of reduced evaporation because of cooler temperatures, increased precipitation, or a combination of the two. Whatever the exact conditions, the mulberry supports the generally held opinion that a cooler, moister environment prevailed in the Great Plains before 9000 B.P. This allowed eastern vegetational elements to expand westward along streams. The Allen site is not the only record of mulberry west of the Missouri River area during this time. In central Nebraska at 25CU62, a site on the South Loup River in Custer County, numerous specimens of definite and likely Morus rubra confirm that mulberry penetrated well to the west of its modern range (Zalucha 1983). A collagen date of 9870±160 B.P. (I-13411) was obtained from bone located 5 cm below the mulberrycontaining cultural level. Species of elm can often be distinguished in charcoal. However, in all but two proveniences the poorly preserved nature of the OL 1 specimens precluded specific identification; these two samples produced three specimens that clearly represent American elm. Based

on the argument from hand collection and specimen size, it is likely that the remaining Ulmus specimens in those units also reflect American elm. Either Ulmus americana or U. rubra is possible in those proveniences where species could not be recognized. The latter tree, at the extreme limit of its range in the study area today, may have been much more prominent during OL 1 times considering the more mesic conditions implied by the presence of mulberry. At the time of historic contact in the study area, American elm and hackberry were typical gallery forest components along more mature drainages. The common presence of elm and hackberry along with numerous specimens representing one or the other are thus consistent with the presence of gallery forest 10,000 to 10,500 years ago. The definite and probable specimens of Acer in the OL 1 collections also probably support the presence of gallery forest at this time. The specimens keyed to generic section Rubra (soft maples). Given the modern vegetation, specimens of Acer in western Nebraska should represent box elder. Based on characters other than wood anatomy, box elder is classified as belonging to section Negundo. However, because its wood structure is indistinguishable from that of the soft maples, these specimens may indeed be box elder. If so, they illustrate a successional stage of gallery forest development different than the elm and hackberry do. The more mesic conditions necessary to support mulberry growth in central and western Nebraska may have allowed other components of the bur oak– elm–walnut association to extend westward beyond their historic distributions. Elements such as bur oak, limited in the west today to a low, scrubby growth form, may have existed as trees. Even relatively extensive deciduous forests, such as those seen by Gruger in northeastern Kansas and those hypothesized by Wells, may have grown in southwest-central Nebraska in the Early Holocene. Unfortunately, because of the small number of identifiable Allen site charcoal specimens from this period, we lack clear evidence for or against such a stage. But even if Early Holocene forests were not more extensive in area, the mulberry

Early Holocene Vegetation of the Central Great Plains /

remains indicate at least a richer complement of gallery forest species. This richer complement may have included Acer saccharinum (silver maple). Found in the Missouri River area today, this soft maple could be the source of at least some of the OL 1 Acer specimens. Given the evidence for a greater westward extension of one eastern taxon in the Early Holocene, it is possible the Acer saccharinum also enjoyed a wider range at that time. It is unfortunate that species of maple cannot be identified on the basis of wood anatomy. Based on our current knowledge, box elder and silver maple are equally plausible sources of the charred Acer. Charcoal collection at the Allen site concentrated heavily on OL 1, with only four samples being taken from each of the other two zones. Whether this was because of excavator bias or an actual decrease in hand-collectible specimens is not known. Despite the limited database, comparison of these assemblages with the earliest occupation zone allows cautious inferences about vegetational stability in the Early Holocene. Based on the dates from Occupation Levels 1 and 2, the Intermediate Zone (IZ) was probably deposited sometime between 9000 and 10,000 B.P. Its small charcoal assemblage is similar to that found in OL 1. Morus rubra is again present. Possible mulberry is also present. These uncertain specimens may also represent Ulmus or Celtis, for all three woods are similar in structure and difficult to distinguish in small, poorly preserved specimens. The IZ mulberry indicates that mesic conditions persisted during this time, supporting the generally held view that Holocene temperatures began to increase only after 9000 B.P. The other identified wood from the IZ is Ulmus, identifiable in one sample as American elm. The similarity between the IZ sample assemblages and those from OL 1 suggests that vegetational and climatic conditions like those during the early occupations also prevailed during IZ times. This suggestion must be viewed with caution because there is so little material from the IZ. I am aware of only one other contemporary area site with identified charcoal, but unfortunately its assemblage does not address this

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issue. In Valley County, charcoal from site 25VY14, which dates to 9400 B.P., consisted only of the typical riverbank pioneers Salix and Populus (Zalucha 1985). A variety of forest types could succeed these taxa. As in the IZ, the sample assemblages from OL 2 resemble those from OL 1 (Table 7.1). Ulmus and Celtis once again suggest the presence of gallery forest along Medicine Creek. In one sample, Acer, which keys to section Rubra, may represent box elder or silver maple. Definite mulberry is not present, although numerous possible specimens do occur. These specimens may also represent elm or hackberry. It is tempting to interpret the absence of definite Morus as evidence of more xeric conditions during OL 2 times. In this scenario the maple would represent box elder, with any silver maple dropping out of the association. Although this model may accurately reflect OL 2 conditions, we lack sufficient evidence to validly reach that conclusion. The absence of Morus may simply be an artifact of small sample size. Summary and Conclusions During the terminal Pleistocene the Medicine Creek area supported woodlands that may have contained significant amounts of spruce. Although the exact nature of these woodlands is unclear, they may have consisted of taigalike vegetation dominated by aspen and spruce. At the time of Euro-American arrival, area vegetation consisted of mixed prairie on uplands with gallery forest along watercourses. Some woody taxa extended up canyons and onto bluff tops. These forests were a greatly attenuated version of the bur oak–elm–walnut association of the Missouri River region. Common trees included willows, cottonwood, green ash, box elder, hackberry, American elm, and bur oak. A variety of lesser woody species formed an often dense shrub layer. In general the paleoclimatology of the Great Plains is poorly known. It appears that as glacial ice retreated, boreal forest in the Plains rapidly gave way to grassland-dominated vegetation. It is possible, however, that coniferous and deciduous forests occurred in a geologically brief interval between these two vegetational stages.

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None of the Allen site zones yielded charcoal sufficient to perform full-scale vegetational reconstruction. Nevertheless, several environmental conclusions were forthcoming. The remains from Occupation Level 1 indicate that 10,000 years ago gallery forests at least similar to those known historically existed in Frontier County. The presence of red mulberry, however, means that these forests contained a richer complement of species. In addition to the mulberry, other eastern taxa such as silver maple may have been present. The

presence of mulberry in the Intermediate Zone suggests that relatively mesic conditions continued after the initial phase of occupation. The persistence of gallery forest is suggested by the presence of elm and possible hackberry. Thus, although the IZ sample is limited, OL 1 conditions appear to have continued with little or no change, although mulberry is absent. Whether this is related to changing climatic conditions or to insufficient sampling is unknown.

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Chapter 8

Archaeology of the Allen Site Introduction, Fieldwork, and Provenience Data

Douglas B. Bamforth

This chapter introduces the third section of this report, focusing on the fieldwork carried out at the Allen site. The following chapter examines the spatial structure of the site, as a basis for understanding how the Allen site locality was used and/or reused. With this as background, chapters 10 though 12 present analyses of the flaked stone assemblage, other artifacts and features, and unmodified animal bone. Fieldwork at the Allen Site Fieldwork at the Allen site was carried out over three years, from 1947 to 1949. As Davis (chapter 2) and Holder and Wike (1949) note, the site was initially discovered in 1947 by a paleontological field party from the Nebraska State Museum under the direction of Alan Graffham, following a calamitous flood in the Lime Creek Valley. This party carried out limited excavations and returned its collections to Lincoln. Recognizing that the Allen site, along with Lime Creek and Red Smoke, was almost certainly very old, C. Bertrand Schultz, then director of the museum, organized a crew under the direction of Preston Holder for extensive excavations in 1948. Following this season, which produced the bulk of the available collection, a small crew under Schultz himself returned to the site in 1949 as it began to go under the rising waters of Harry Strunk Lake. Documentation of these three excavations varies greatly, as did the field techniques used in each; this chapter therefore discusses each of them separately. Figure 8.1

Figure 8.1 Excavated area at the Allen site, showing the extent of excavation in 1947, 1948, and 1949.

identifies the areas excavated in each of the three years. The 1948 excavations are documented in particular detail by Preston Holder’s field notes, provided by Joyce Wike and presently archived at the University of Nebraska State Museum.

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Figure 8.2 Excavations at the Allen site in 1948, view to the south. (Courtesy of the Bureau of Reclamation.)

The 1947 Excavations Fieldworkers in the 1947 party identified the Allen site in the freshly exposed deposits above Medicine Creek and carried out a small test of these deposits, recovering a fairly extensive collection of archaeological material and producing a sketch map of the site location. However, the available notes on this work record neither the details of this excavation nor the specific vertical provenience of any of the artifacts in the collection, problems that Holder (field notes, July 20, 1948) noted the next year. However, in clearing their back dirt and consulting with laborers who had assisted in the 1947 work, Holder was able to reconstruct the general excavation strategy used and to map the extent of the excavation fairly precisely. As he puts it, the 1948 crew “found Graffham’s old back-fill and slump and began clearing it away. He had

badger-holed in under the terrace along an irregular face . . . apparently depending on roof-fall and caving to give him artifacts—independent confirmation on part of man who worked with him (present as current cleaning up) proved this theory correct” (field notes, July 23, 1948). On clearing and mapping the 1947 excavations, Holder writes “excavated back-fill from 1947 exploratory pit. . . . Very irregular, much pitting below excavation floor, also undercutting of bank. Pit as found extended six feet into the terrace along a 20 foot face forming an irregular curve horizontally and vertically” (field notes, July 26, 1948). Holder’s data indicate that the 1947 excavation covered an area of approximately 100 ft2 (9.5 m2). Holder’s (field notes, July 26, 1948) sketch maps of the 1947 excavation area suggest that this first season of work probably exposed the complete Paleoindian

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Figure 8.3 Excavations at the Allen site in 1948, view to the north. Note pilasters holding grid stakes and work on Profile B in upper portion of photograph. (Courtesy of the Bureau of Reclamation.)

stratigraphic sequence at the site; artifacts in the 1947 collection thus probably date throughout the site’s occupation. However, the upper limits of the 1947 trench are unclear, and there is no way of determining this for certain at present. This is unfortunate, because the field techniques used in 1947 make it impossible to determine the vertical provenience of any of the material recovered that year. The 1948 Excavations Operations under Holder proceeded far more meticulously than those in 1947 (Figures 8.2–8.3) and are documented in field notes and other records and in his own description of the fieldwork, written for a never-completed report. The existing field records consist of Holder’s notebook detailing each day’s work, a separate “engineering” notebook recording

surveying data (kept by Gregory Elias, one of the geologists associated with the project), photographs of the excavations in progress, “detail sheets” (maps of individual items within excavation squares that were generally made when concentrations of materials were encountered), verbal descriptions of everything designated a “feature” (generally, hearths and concentrations of cultural material), a detailed profile of the deposits exposed along Medicine Creek, and a north-south profile of the west edge of the excavations. As good as this documentation is, though, it is at least partially incomplete: uncharacteristically, Holder’s daily notes end on August 2, 1948, despite the fact that the engineering notebook is noted as “closed 8-25-48” and feature descriptions are dated as late as August 26. An undated note written in what appears to be Elias’s handwriting and inserted into the

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engineering book suggests that some records of the work were lost fairly early on: it lists a number of items to search for, including a second engineering book and the writer’s own field notes, along with two detail sheets. Particularly “significant” discoveries (including well-made artifacts and charcoal concentrations) were often (but not always) designated as “finds,” numbered individually in the order of their discovery, and mapped and described in detail. Similarly, features were numbered individually, mapped, described, and, usually, excavated. The exceptions to this generalization were in the case of six concentrations of charcoal, three large bones (one bovid ulna and radius, one bison scapula, and one antelope scapula [identified in field notes]), and one hearth (Feature 27), all of which were encased in plaster jackets and taken to Lincoln for processing. At least some of these were never opened, and two (one charcoal sample and the hearth) were examined for the present project. Holder’s unpublished description of the 1948 excavations is as follows. Gaps in this text were left by Holder himself; where information in the notes made it possible to fill in such gaps, additions are enclosed in brackets; where this was not possible, the text below retains the blanks. Other than these additions, the only change made in Holder’s description is the deletion of his references to illustrations: It was clear from an examination of the naturally exposed profile along the bank of Medicine Creek that the cultural debris was limited vertically to a relatively narrow band some 20 or more feet below the crest of the bluff. The linear extent seemed to be about ______ feet along the bank. Upstream, it terminated abruptly; downstream, the termination was much less clearly defined. There was no readily available means of determining the ultimate extension of the cultural debris away from the stream under the bluff, e.g. southerly(?). Cursory examination of the soil above the midden concentrations revealed no other cultural materials, except for debris from the ceramic site further back on the terrace crest.

If tunneling and undercutting technics were to be avoided, there was the problem of removing a great amount of overburden, none of which seemed likely to contain cultural material. Since earthmoving machinery was available in the immediate vicinity it seemed best to remove the overburden mechanically with the aid of a tractor with a bulldozing attachment. Arrangements were made for this removal to be under daily supervision of a trained scientist so that it could be immediately stopped if unsuspected cultural remains came to light. The general plan was to remove the earth along a roughly north/south line in order to make a giant trench some [60] long by [50] feet wide and about 23 to 30 feet deep. Levels were taken to control the ultimate depth and control stakes set about three feet above the midden concentration. Thus three feet of cushioning soil were left to be removed carefully by hand. This method naturally did not allow for possible upward tilts in the assumed southward extension of the midden beds. This eventuality was to be controlled by visual examination. That is to say, if any cultural material showed up on the bed of the cut, removal operations were to cease and hand removal begin. Actually, the periphery of a fire bed (Feature [1]) showed up in the floor of the trench at the close of operations. This feature proved to be in the upper limits of Level II and it is virtually certain that no other cultural material was removed. The tailings from these operations were spilled over the bluff face into Medicine Creek. . . . Final machine operations consisted of removing these tailings along the edge of the creek bank in such fashion as to form a trench, the southerly wall of which would contain the original naturally exposed profile of the midden concentration. Vertical controls as well as lateral controls were difficult in this final operation and it seems likely that some cultural debris

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was inadvertently removed during the final cuts along this face. That such losses were minor was indicated by the absence of washout material in the tailings. All in all some ______ days of machine removal were necessary. The results were extremely gratifying. The final form which the terrain took was that of the undisturbed terrace wall to the south, a trench some [60] feet wide, and, on the south, an undisturbed control “island” consisting of an isolated remnant of the old terrace where it curved away into the mouth of the draw. With the completion of machine removal of the soil it was possible to lay down a simple grid system for identification of data according to vertical and horizontal coordinates. The grid was tied into a bench mark stake which in turn was tied into the C&GS bms in the area. This BM stake was taken as the 0–0 point in the coordinates system and extension made to the [magnetic] north and east. In view of the unique material likely to be encountered at the site as well as the possible high importance of the data from the point of view of an early chronological position it was decided to control the digging by five foot squares. In retrospect it is clear that 10 foot squares would have done equally well. Stakes thus were set at every five foot interval. These stakes were identified by the exact coordinate position and this coordinate number became a square number. Each five foot square was identified by the coordinate number appearing on its southeastern corner stake. Materials recovered and notes taken were identified according to these square numbers. Elevations were determined at each stake and the elevation of significant details recorded to the closest 0.1 foot by reference to the stake elevation. In general, a line and bubble level was used to determine elevation of details since the nearest elevation was never more than five feet away. Especially significant features and finds

made within the area of exploration were given specific sequential numbers as well as being located accurately vertically and horizontally within each square to the maximum error of 0.1 foot. All other specimens were located by five foot square and 0.2 foot level, as well as being identified with their respective occupation zones as these became apparent. The usual practice of bagging the material and then identifying the bag with its five foot square number and any other additional find or feature number was followed. This identification was then recorded in the field catalogue at the time that the specimen received a field catalog number. The problem of exploration resolved itself into two aspects. First the natural profile needed to be cleaned, interpreted and explored. Secondly, and at the same time, it was necessary to determine the southward extent of the midden deposit. In the first case it was clear that we could proceed by examining easily determined physical differences in the soils. In the second case we would be proceeding blindly. Once these two aspects had been clarified it would be possible to extend the digging in all directions from the resultant control profiles and determine all details within the area cleared by the machinery. In view of the importance of examining each and every aspect of the site in situ it was decided not to use the chunk-and-sift method of soil removal but rather to take the soil down in finely controlled horizontal slices by skimming with sharp shovel edges. There was always the danger of slicing material in this fashion but the advantages of in situ examination overweighed such considerations. In addition, it was decided that all digging, blind or not, should be controlled in arbitrary 0.2 foot levels even within the physical levels. Thus all squares were floored off carefully and all material sacked at every 0.2 foot level. Specimens were expressed by the brush

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and probe method using for the most part bamboo probes. All specimens were examined in situ, recorded, and then removed, often several days after the original find. Protective coverings of heavy paper, sheet metal, sacking, etc. were used to prevent undue drying and accidental damage. The actual chronology of digging was: Exploratory Trench 1: a trench along the creek bank the southerly wall of which was the original natural profile of the site. This work involved a careful cleaning out of the back fill of the previous year’s exploration and a careful cleaning of the entire profile from its downstream extension at [approximately N150E95] to its upstream extension at [approximately N215E30]. The original cushion cover was left intact and the trench floor was deepened until clearly “sterile” soil showed below the cultural concentrations along the entire extent of the profile. Great care was taken to differentiate redeposited soil due to erosion and slipping of the terrace face from the original undisturbed matrix. Special precautions were also taken to determine the extent of numerous animal burrows which had run back into the matrix from the original terrace face. The resultant profile was carefully scribed and recorded. Meanwhile the artifacts picked from the profile face were analyzed in terms of the physical zones which were easily visible. On the basis of the relative frequencies of artifacts in the three physical levels which became apparent three historical periods were postulated: • An original fairly intense occupation, the remains of which were designated as Occupation Level I (during exploratory phases designated as Occupation Zone B and occasionally Soil Zone B). • A relatively long period of partial abandonment or very light occupation, the remains of which were designated as

Intermediate Zone (same designant during exploratory work). • A later relatively short period of light occupation leading to the final complete abandonment of the site. These remains were designated as Occupation Level II (during exploratory work designated as Occupation Zone A or occasionally Soil Zone A). Exploratory Trench 2: Whereas Trench 1 was determined by natural aspects of the site, Trench 2 was laid out according to the coordinates. It was five feet wide and ran along lines [35 East] and [40 East] from the original profile face southward to the fired area, Feature [8], which had showed up in the final phases of machine removal of overburden. The digging in this trench was completely controlled by arbitrary 0.2 foot levels until sterile soil was reached. The walls were cleaned, scribed, and the resultant profile used as a control and extension of the original natural profile. As suspected, the midden beds were found to be tilted upward to the west and south from the original terrace face. It was also found that the concentrations of cultural materials increased constantly to the westward of the terrace face. The same was true in a southerly direction but here the concentration dropped off after about ______ in the vicinity of Feature [8] and all signs of occupation faded out, another fact which indicated we had not lost much material in the original cutting of the deep trench by machine. Main Body of the Exploration: Once the two profiles were clear and the physical nature of the remains determined, the triangular area west of the Exploratory Trench 2 was removed by working back from the Profile of Exploratory Trench I and west from Exploratory Trench 2.

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Holder and Wike (1949:261) note that a total of 512.5 ft3 were excavated in Occupation Level (OL) 1, 1,537.5 ft3 in the Intermediate Zone (IZ), and 612.5 ft3 in OL 2. In contrast to the 1947 work, Holder’s excavations produced a wealth of reasonably detailed provenience information: excepting the absence of fine screening, his standards were as high or higher than those applied in many more recent projects, with all excavation conducted by 5-ft squares and 0.2-ft levels. Unfortunately, though, this level of detailed provenience information is not now available for the entire collection. Although there are exceptions, at least this level of provenience information is preserved for most of the “artifacts” (lithic material and obviously worked bone) and the radiocarbon samples. Many objects within features were also piece-plotted on detail sheets and recorded in the survey notebooks. However, although these latter objects are numbered on the plots and in the engineering notebook, no record has survived that allows us to link these numbers with those in the catalogs, and very few of the piece-plotted artifacts can confidently be identified as specific items in the collection. The situation for the unmodified faunal remains is less fortunate. Although these remains were apparently initially recovered and field processed with the artifacts, they were then turned over to the project paleontologists for curation and analysis. Provenience information for this portion of the collection is preserved only according to the paleontological standards of the day: we can place the great majority of the material in time, at least at the level of Holder’s three primary strata (OL 1, the IZ, and OL 2), but we cannot place it within excavation units or levels. A partial exception to this is the faunal material designated as coming from specific features, which can be identified as such, although the specific location within any feature is unknown. Provenience information for the unmodified faunal remains, then, is generally by stratum only and relies on the stratigraphic identifications made in the field by Holder: thus, for the most part, the faunal collection can be divided into material coming from OL 1, the IZ, and OL 2. Overall, then, there are specific three-dimensional locational data for very little of the collection. However,

the lithic assemblage and radiocarbon dates can be located within 0.2-ft excavation levels and 5-ft squares, and the unmodified faunal material can be located within the three major strata recognized at the site. The 1949 Excavations A few artifacts were located at the site during a brief field visit in mid-June 1949 by a portion of the 1948 crew and E. M. Davis, and these artifacts were formally recorded in early August of that year. Following this, a short period of fieldwork was conducted at the Allen site under the direction of C. B. Schultz from August 22 to August 27, 1949. The objectives of this work (documented in field notes by E. M. Davis) were to excavate Holder’s “control blocks” (unexcavated units left in place along the southern and western edges of the cat trench). In addition to Davis’s notes, a series of “feature sheets” documents this work. In this work, a “feature” refers to “a unit of record, e.g., a six inch level in a square, a cluster of materials, a single find” (E. M. Davis, personal communication, October 1990). The initial 1949 fieldwork carried out by Davis, including the recording of artifacts in early August, began numbering “features” with 36, continuing the sequence used in 1948. However, the work carried out under Schultz’s direction in late August numbered features beginning with 1 (E. M. Davis, addition to 1949 field records dated “19 Dec., 1951”), thereby duplicating all of the feature numbers assigned by Holder the year before. The 1949 work was carried out within the 1948 grid; Figure 8.1 indicates the units excavated at this time. Sufficient provenience data are available from these excavations to locate virtually all of the material recovered relative to Holder’s occupation levels. Perhaps the most significant material recovered during this work is a sample of charcoal from a hearth on the surface of OL 1 at the south edge of the excavation area (Schultz’s Feature 18), which was subsequently submitted to W. Libby for radiocarbon dating. This date was later published as Sample 470 (Libby 1955) and produced an uncalibrated date of 10,493±1500. The 1949 work also confirmed Holder’s observations regarding the site’s stratigraphy.

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Features As should be clear from the discussion of the various excavations conducted at the site, the 1947 work recorded no information on anything that modern archaeologists would view as a “feature,” and the 1949 usage of the term simply refers to any and all provenience units. However, the 1948 feature designations offer important information on both the spatial structure of the site and the nature of the human activities carried out there. Holder defined a total of 34 features, which fall into three groups: 20 hearths, 12 artifact concentrations, and two anomalous designations. Excavators recorded a range of information on each of these, including a description of what each feature was, artifacts associated with it (if any), and the feature’s three-dimensional location and relation to the stratigraphic units defined in the field. In some cases, excavators also drew maps (the “detail sheets” noted above) of artifact distributions within features and of hearths. The two anomalous features include a single canid skull, which Holder (in the feature description) states should not have been recorded as a feature, and a feature consisting of material that was “pulled together for illustrative purposes.” These purposes were, unfortunately, never specified, and it is not clear what this feature was intended to illustrate. These last two features are not considered any further here. The majority of the finds designated as “features” are hearths. These were uniformly no more than discrete areas of ash and oxidized sediment, round or oval in plan view and lens-shaped in cross section. All hearths were mapped in three dimensions, had their diameter measured, and had their degree of burning assessed as “light,” “medium,” or “heavy,” apparently on the basis of a visual assessment of degree of oxidation. In addition, some were mapped in detail, with maps distinguishing ashy areas from the surrounding oxidized ring. In all cases, the records made of hearths document the kinds and amounts of directly associated cultural material (in all cases, there was very little of this; see chapter 9). The descriptions acknowledge that the remaining “features,” artifact concentrations, often represent

arbitrary divisions of horizontal scatters of objects. However, features in this category uniformly show very restricted vertical distributions. The majority of these are concentrations of faunal and lithic material that were recorded as lying directly on the surface of OL 1, although similar (but smaller) concentrations were evident in the IZ and OL 2 as well. Within these features, maps and specific provenience records make it possible to point-plot many objects, but the significance of the artifact distributions that can be identified this way is not clear, because it is not clear whether or not every single object (for example, unmodified flakes or small bone fragments) within the spatial limits of a “feature” was plotted. For example, hundreds of flakes from the surface of OL 1 were designated as “feature” material, although they were not mapped, but hundreds of other flakes immediately adjacent to them were not so designated (although these “nonfeature” flakes can be placed within excavation levels and 5-ft squares). However, although the spatial patterning revealed by the material designated as coming from a feature is thus ambiguous, the data recorded offer detailed information on the contours of the surfaces on which objects were discarded and, in fact, provide the primary database available for reconstructing the surfaces of OL 1 and OL 2 (see below). However, although these “scatter features” (as Hudson [chapter 12] refers to them) are ambiguous in some ways, they do provide some spatial data on faunal remains (as noted above). At least in the case of the surface of OL 1, where the greatest number of scatter features was defined, feature provenience helps us to understand the pattern of accumulation of archaeological material, as chapter 9 discusses. How Big Was the Allen Site? The Allen site excavations thus exposed a triangular area of approximately 1,250 ft2 (118 m2). It is clear that these excavations did not remove all of the archaeological material that was present in the immediate area of the digging; as chapter 9 documents, artifact concentrations continued into both the western and southern walls of the trench. However, there are hints both in the data in chapter 9 and in the documentation

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of the fieldwork that suggest that the excavation recovered a substantial proportion, and perhaps most, of the concentrations of material that Graffham and his paleontological crew first observed in 1947. The original limits of the concentration in the direction of Medicine Creek (to the northeast) cannot be determined because of the erosion that exposed the site. However, both the field notes and the distributions of artifacts documented in chapter 9 show that overall artifact densities dropped off noticeably to the south and west. The concentration of artifacts evident in the cutbank itself also seems to have gradually decreased toward the southeast. However, as Holder’s discussion above indicates, there appears to have been an abrupt edge to the artifact concentration in the upstream (northern) portion of the site, despite the clear presence of unexcavated artifacts in the sediments there. This may have important implications for inferences regarding both the original limits of the site and some of the interpretations in later chapters. E. M. Davis wrote: “How much more stuff is left in the bank [to the northwest] is a guess; Schultz says it is getting richer, but that in the ravine only a few feet away it is already gone, being T3 entirely by the time you get over there. Dr. Schultz says T2 and T3 are distinct lithologically” (field notes, November 16, 1949). Holder’s field notes do not discuss this, but he did draw a sketch map (dated “5 July 1948,” prior to any excavation) that shows a ravine at the upstream (north) edge of the site. This map appears to show the general grid he planned to lay out, and if the final grid was placed in approximately the position he depicts, the northern ravine would have been some 10 ft away from the north end of the excavation. Although Brice (1966) suggests that Schultz was incorrect in identifying a Late Pleistocene T3 terrace at Medicine Creek, May (1991, 2002; see also chapter 3) confirms that such a terrace is present. This terrace does appear to date to the Late Pleistocene, prior to 14,000 RCYBP, and, if Schultz’s identification of it adjacent to the Allen site is correct, it has important implications for the site’s setting. Brice (1966) and May (2002; chapter 3) both note extensive erosion within the Medicine Creek drainage after 14,000 RCYBP, with deposition of

the T2 sediments (that is, the sediments containing the Allen, Lime Creek, and Red Smoke sites) commencing after 11,000 RCYBP. Brice (1966; also see chapter 4) particularly reconstructs a change from a fairly gently sloping, loess-covered valley prior to 14,000 to a steeply dissected and sharply bounded valley when deposition of the T2 fill commenced. These steep valley margins, then, must have been cut into the preexisting T3 and T4 (Pleistocene-age) sediments. If T3 sediments were present immediately adjacent to the Allen site, the excavated portion of the site must have been at the valley-side edge of the Medicine Creek floodplain, very close to the steep cutbank that marked the edge of the floodplain. Reconstructing Vertical Provenience for the Lithic Assemblage Although, as earlier sections note, the 1947 material has no clear vertical provenience and the faunal assemblage can be placed confidently only within one of the three major strata, most of the lithic assemblage recovered in 1948 and 1949 can be located more precisely within 0.2-ft excavation levels and 5.0-ft grid squares. It is therefore possible to break this component of the collection down into finer stratigraphic units. However, before doing this it is necessary to discuss the Allen site stratigraphy in somewhat more detail. May (chapter 3) addresses the sedimentary patterns indicated by the evidence available from the site; this discussion focuses on the relation between archaeological and sedimentary information as the basis for more fine-grained spatial analyses (see chapter 9). Archaeological versus Geological Stratigraphy Holder’s discussion above identifies a simple tripartite division of the Allen site stratigraphy that rests on a combination of geological and archaeological evidence: the two occupation levels are soils (often referred to as “stain zones” in the field notes) associated with concentrations of artifacts and features, with both the soils and the artifact/feature concentrations evident more or less throughout the excavated area. However, the unfinished profiles drawn for the face of the cutbank along Medicine Creek (Holder’s Profiles A and B) and

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Figure 8.4 Stratigraphic profile of the southern portion of the west wall of the 1948 Exploratory Trench at the Allen site.

for the west face of Exploratory Trench 1 (the trench running along the west portion of the excavation) show somewhat more complex sedimentary patterning that merits discussion. Profiles A and B Profiles A and B describe, respectively, the face of the Medicine Creek cutbank and the rear wall of the 1947 excavation. Profile B thus represents a portion of the northern section of Profile A that is set back approximately 4–6 ft from it. Both profiles were apparently drawn in the field by Gregory Elias, one of the geologists associated with the 1948 fieldwork. A note on a combined version of Profiles A and B states that the section was “still open 8-25-48,” although the written description of the profile is dated “12 August 1948.” Although the author of the description is not noted, it appears to have been written by Holder, as it refers to “the geologists cooperating at the site.” The profiles as drawn do not extend the full distance indicated on the field maps: as the inserts to Holder’s text above note, the profile is mapped as running from (roughly)

N150E95 to N215E30, but the drawing extends only from (roughly) N180E65 to N206E40. The profiles (Figures 8.4–8.5) clearly show the two occupation levels and the locations of hearths exposed in the cutbank. However, they also indicate that the IZ was a somewhat more complex sedimentary unit than Holder’s brief description above suggests. As described in the written notes to Profile A, the Intermediate Zone (designated in the description as “IZ A-B”) was a major stratum ca. 1.30' thick. This stratum is light and/or mottled, with occasional lenses of stained soil, some as thick as 0.40'. There was cultural and faunal debris scattered at random throughout. The stained soil lenses in no case extended the full length of the profile. Within this stratum, we were forced to designate major stained lenses as sub-strata. As: IZ A-B1—A stained zone 0.30' thick about 0.50' from the top of IZ A-B between N190E55 and N193E52. There was no marked increase of cultural debris. . . .

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Figure 8.5 Stratigraphic profile of the northern portion of the west wall of the 1948 Exploratory Trench at the Allen site.

IZ A-B2—Defined in the same fashion as sub1, but separated from it vertically by 0.30' of unstained IZ A-B matrix. This substratum is 0.40' thick and has same horizontal extension as sub1. All other comments on sub1 apply here. Both of these substrata are evident on Profile A. Interestingly, there is a note on Profile B that there is “some stain” in the lower portions of the Intermediate Zone, and the line marking the top of this stain corresponds fairly closely to the upper limit of IZ A-B1 on Profile A. East 35 Profile The north-south profile along the E35 line (the west wall of the excavation) was also drawn by Elias and bears a note that it was “completed 8-21-48.” There are no notes accompanying this profile (Figure 8.6). Again, Occupation Levels 1 and 2 are clearly indicated and extend the full distance of the section. However, this profile also notes a “stain zone” designated “soil level X”

above OL 2. This zone appears not to have been associated with any concentrations of archaeological material and must have been removed by the heavy equipment if it originally extended across the excavated area. In addition, substratum A-B1 is clearly marked within the Intermediate Zone. Although it appears to have been difficult to follow (both its northern and southern extent are marked as uncertain), extrapolating the slope of its upper limit out to the point where it would have emerged on Profile B is consistent with the top of the level marked “some stain” on that profile. Discussion The available profiles are clearly consistent with Holder’s basic stratigraphy, which, as is noted above, is defined on the basis of a combination of archaeological and geological criteria. However, the profiles do suggest some additional stratigraphic complexity within the Intermediate Zone. The “stain” zones within this unit appear to have been fairly localized, indistinct, and probably discontinuous, and their horizontal limits appear to have been difficult or impossible to define.

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Figure 8.6 North-to-south profile along the East 35 gridline at the Allen site.

There are also no notes indicating that these units were observed during excavation. They thus clearly do not represent the broadly distributed, at least reasonably well-developed soils evident in the two occupation levels and elsewhere in the drainage. Rather, the limited available data suggest that the stains within the IZ may represent local low spots in the topography of the Early Holocene terrace that supported a richer vegetation than slightly higher areas around them and that therefore produced sediments that were slightly more organically enriched than contemporary sediments nearby (David May, personal communication, 1995). Vertical Units of Analysis With the basic stratigraphy of the site in mind, it is possible to derive finer divisions that reflect both Holder’s descriptions of the vertical distribution of material within the site and the likelihood, discussed by May (chapter 3) and below, that artifacts accumulated over extended periods of time on the surfaces of the buried soils that mark OL 1 and OL 2. Holder initially defined the occupation levels as concentrations of cultural material contained in “clear loess” and lying on the tops of the darkly stained soils, which he initially referred to as “stain zones” (field notes, July 25). Thus, he initially divided the site into five, rather than three, strata (Occupation Level 2, Stain Zone 2, the Intermediate Zone, Occupation Level 1, and Stain Zone 1). However, the next day, he noted

that the “profile strata terminology is probably too fine” (field notes, July 26) and collapsed the occupation levels and stain zones together into single units. These observations imply that he saw clear concentrations of artifacts at the very tops of the stain zones/ soils; he notes that the concentration of material at the top of the upper soil was approximately 3 in thick and that at the top of the lower soil was approximately 6 in thick. In both cases, the underlying stain zones were approximately 6 in thick. However, because the majority of the Allen site collection was cataloged either according to Holder’s three more general strata or simply by absolute depth without reference to stratigraphic units, two problems make it difficult to reconstruct precisely which artifacts were found lying on top of the soils and within the stained soil horizons. The first of these is simply that the site was excavated in square, flat levels, while the stratigraphic units slope downward across the site toward the northeast, and the great majority of the detailed provenience data allows us to locate artifacts within the site only to the scale of these excavation levels. Individual excavation levels cannot have mixed large amounts of material from different strata because they were only 2.4 in thick and the slope of the strata was not great (see below), but these levels remain imperfect tools for examining stratigraphic relationships nevertheless. Second, Holder’s notes clearly indicate that rodents burrowed throughout the site deposits,

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Table 8.1: Definitions of Analytic Stratigraphic Units at the Allen Site Unit

Definition

Above Occupation Level 2

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths more than 4.0 in above the surface of Occupation Level 2.

Occupation Level 2 Upper

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths less than 4.0 and greater than or equal to 2.0 in above the surface of Occupation Level 2.

Occupation Level 2 Surface All of the excavation levels with bottom depths within 2.0 in of the Occupation level 2 surface. Occupation Level 2 Lower

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths more than 2.0 but less than or equal to 6.0 in below the surface of Occupation Level 2.

Intermediate Zone

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths more than 6.0 in below the surface of Occupation Level 2 and 4.0 in or more above the surface of Occupation Level 1.

Occupation Level 1 Upper

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths less than 4.0 but more than 2.0 in above the surface of Occupation Level 1.

Occupation Level 1 Surface All of the excavation levels with bottom depths within 2.0 in of the surface of Occupation Level 1. Occupation Level 1 Lower

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths more than 2.0 but less than or equal to 6.0 in below the surface of Occupation Level 1.

Below Occupation Level 1

All of the excavation levels with bottom depths more than 6.0 in below the surface of Occupation Level 1.

Figure 8.7 Reconstructed topography of the surfaces of Occupation Level 1 and Occupation Level 2.

particularly near the cutbank in which the site was initially exposed, and the ability of these animals to move artifacts vertically—particularly small artifacts— implies that the original stratigraphic distribution of artifacts within the deposits must have been blurred somewhat. Although the presence of clear color differences in the sediments within and outside of the buried soils and of obvious vertical concentrations of cultural material indicate that the site was not completely homogenized, there can be no doubt that some mixing must have occurred (although refitting of the lithic assemblage [chapter 9] indicates that such mixing was limited). Bearing these problems in mind, the procedure used to divide the collection into finer stratigraphic units than the three basic ones was as follows. First, the survey data from the site were winnowed for point-plotted artifacts and other measurements that lay directly on the surfaces of OL 1 and OL 2. The spatial coordinates of these points were then used to generate a topographic map of each of these surfaces (Figure 8.7). The excavation grid was then overlain onto these maps in order to obtain depths for the

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surface of each of the soils in the southeastern corner of each grid square for which such a depth was not recorded in the notes, and these depths were used as the basis for defining nine finer vertical divisions of the site into which to place the various excavation levels. Table 8.1 presents these divisions. These units are somewhat finer than Holder’s and offer the possibility of somewhat more precise temporal control for some analyses. Where sample sizes for these various levels are too small for analysis or where more direct comparisons between the lithic and faunal assemblages from the site are required, they can readily be reduced to the three basic strata. In such a reduction, Occupation Level 2 Upper, Occupation Level 2 Surface, and Occupation Level 2 Lower correspond essentially to Holder’s Occupation Level 2; and Occupation Level 1 Upper, Occupation Level 1 Surface, and Occupation Level 1 Lower correspond essentially to Holder’s Occupation Level 1 (chapter 9 discusses slight differences between this classification and Holder’s classification). Summary The three distinct field strategies applied at the Allen site produced a substantial and reasonably welldocumented collection of faunal and lithic material.

Excavations exposed approximately 1,250 ft2 of occupation area. Archaeological material within this area was contained in deposits approximately 3 ft thick, which could be divided into three strata: two darkly stained layers labeled Occupation Levels 1 and 2 and an unstained Intermediate Zone between them. Although none of the deposits was screened, all cultural and faunal material that the excavators saw was saved and cataloged. Provenience data for the Allen site collection are uneven. Stone artifacts (including worked pieces, debitage, and groundstone) from the last two years of fieldwork at the site, radiocarbon samples, and some bone tools can be located within 5-ft squares and 0.2-ft levels, and these levels can be used to reconstruct finer stratigraphic units for analysis. However, the majority of the faunal material can be assigned only to one of the three strata noted in the preceding paragraph, although some of this material can also be placed within “features,” allowing us to infer vertical provenience somewhat more specifically. The relatively detailed provenience data on the lithic assemblage make it possible to define a series of more specific stratigraphic units for analysis than the three basic units just noted, and subsequent chapters rely on these finer units where appropriate.

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Spatial Structure and Refitting of the Allen Site Lithic Assemblage Douglas B. Bamforth and Mark Becker

There are two fundamental kinds of archaeological data: data derived from inspection of artifacts and data pertaining to the spatial relations among artifacts and between artifacts and features. Paleoindian archaeology relies heavily on the first of these. However, though detailed maps of the distributions of artifacts and features within many Paleoindian sites are common in the literature, systematic considerations of the implications of intrasite arrangements of artifacts and features are not. A substantial body of research, particularly ethnoarchaeological research, though, makes it clear that spatial data offer powerful insights to a wide array of topics, including both site formation processes and interpretations of patterns of human activity at a site. This chapter thus focuses on the horizontal and vertical spatial structure of the Allen site to (1) evaluate the degree of vertical and horizontal integrity of the site and (2) provide technological and other information on human activities there. It particularly emphasizes the vertical and horizontal distribution of hearths, artifacts, and refits between artifacts and the possibility that noncultural postdepositional processes contributed to this distribution. The patterns identified here, then, provide the framework that structures much of the discussion of specific classes of material culture in the chapters that follow. Like all other archaeological analysis, intrasite spatial analysis depends, first, on identifying patterns in archaeological data and, second, on drawing out the human implications of those patterns. Approaches to the first of these vary widely, ranging from simple inspection of maps of artifact distributions to a variety of quantitative modes of analysis (i.e., Binford 1978a;

Carr 1984; Enloe et al. 1994; Koetje 1994; Thomas 1983; Vaquero and Pasto 2002; Yellen 1996). However, virtually all recent attempts to make meaning out of the patterns identified by these different kinds of analysis rely on generalizations about the structure of huntergatherer campsites generated by ethnoarchaeological research (particularly Binford 1978a; O’Connell 1987; Yellen 1977). Our discussion of the Allen site’s structure follows this pattern: we first consider the spatial patterning in the site and then turn to the ways in which ethnoarchaeological studies illuminate this patterning. The data section expands on the information presented by Bamforth et al. (2005); the ethnoarchaeological discussion parallels that presentation. In addition to addressing these issues, we also consider briefly some of the technological implications of the patterns identified by refitting. Methodology Our overall analysis is organized by the nine stratigraphic units defined in chapter 8 (see Table 8.1). It is important to note that these units are, in part, arbitrary vertical divisions of the site. However, they are constructed such that they follow the natural slope of the ancient living surfaces and therefore offer a finergrained division of the site than the three units defined by Holder and Wike (1949). It would also have been possible to structure our analyses in terms of individual excavation levels, the minimum vertical units into which the site can be divided. However, given that the site deposits slope naturally to the northeast and that the excavation units were flat, this seemed inappropriate; the predominantly 4- to 6-in-thick units we rely

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on here provide a better match between the quality of the data available to us and the geomorphic structure of the site. We examined vertical and horizontal artifact distributions by (1) systematically refitting as much of the lithic assemblage as possible and (2) plotting artifact densities per stratigraphic unit (to examine vertical distributions) and 5-ft excavation grid units (to examine horizontal distributions). As discussed below, we also consider horizontal plots of artifact size to search for downslope sizesorting. The following sections outline these methods in more detail. Determining the Spatial Distribution of Artifacts Vertical Patterning Our analysis of the vertical distribution of material within the site focused both on hearths and on artifacts. The hearths offer especially important information on the stratigraphic distribution of material in the site, because, unlike artifacts, they can be damaged but not vertically displaced by such forces as rodent burrowing. The slope of the occupation surfaces at the site, and particularly differences in slope between Occupation Level (OL) 1 and OL 2 (see Figure 8.7), slightly complicates comparisons of the depths of artifacts and features in different parts of the site. Reliance on the nine stratigraphic units defined in chapter 8 eliminates some of this difficulty because these units follow the natural slope of the deposits. To examine the vertical distribution of artifacts, we computed for each stratigraphic unit the overall density of artifacts per cubic foot within each stratum and the average number of artifacts per provenience unit containing artifacts; we then compared patterns in these to the vertical distribution of refitted pieces. However, to examine the overall vertical distribution of the hearths across the site as a whole, we calculated their depths relative to the surface of OL 1 Surface. Then, this “difference from the surface of Occupation Level 1” was divided by the thickness of the Intermediate Zone (IZ) deposits in the grid unit containing the hearth to estimate the hearth’s relative vertical position within the site deposits.

Horizontal Patterning Horizontal spatial patterning within each of the nine stratigraphic units was defined on the basis of the distribution of lithic artifacts, feature dispersion, and lithic refits. The total number of lithic artifacts was tabulated per grid unit, and the SURFER mapping program was used to generate contour maps of the total number of lithic artifacts per grid square. Enloe et al. (1994) note that the details of spatial patterns can be affected by the size of the grids used to identify them, and it is conceivable that changing the scale of our analysis might change the patterns we see here somewhat. However, the great majority of the Allen site collection has provenience data only to the level of the 5-ft grid squares used in excavation, precluding finer scales of analysis. Having generated maps of overall artifact distributions, we then compared the locations of hearths and refitted artifacts to the high- and low-density areas for each level. In addition, for stratigraphic units with adequate numbers of refits, maps showing all lithic refits were produced. The lithic refit maps were made to the same scale as the SURFER maps and were then used as overlays to directly observe associations (or nonassociations) between features (e.g., hearths, lithic concentrations) and refitted groups of artifacts. A second component of the horizontal analysis examined the possible effects of noncultural formation processes by searching for patterns of downslope sizesorting within the excavation area. We studied spatial patterns of artifact size using the median width of all of the artifacts measured within any given grid square, including only those grid squares with four or more measured artifacts. Given the small numbers of artifacts measured for many grid squares and the typically highly skewed distributions of flake measurements, the median is a preferable measure of central tendency to the mean. Lithic Refitting Cahen et al. have pointed out the simplicity of refitting stone assemblages: “It consists in the reassembling of the various artifacts—tools, flakes, and fragments— that have been knapped from the same block. All

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it requires is time, glue, and a solvent for the glue” (1979:663). Cahen (1987) also addresses some practical considerations in refitting stone assemblages, such as the importance of having a basic knowledge of typology and technology, because it is necessary to assign a correct place for each piece within a threedimensional puzzle. Furthermore, such idiosyncrasies of the raw material as texture, color, veining, impurities, and cortex can be useful guides in refitting, and organizing artifacts using these attributes can help in making obvious joins (Cahen et al. 1979). For the Allen site analysis, the first step was to unpack the artifacts from each provenience unit onto a table. The collection was then organized into categories to simplify the process of refitting, including modified artifacts, debitage and debris, and cores. Generally, all debitage and debris less than 0.5 in was ignored, for nearly all of these pieces are very difficult to refit. Then, each of these categories was divided into subclasses based on color differences in the raw material. At the Allen site, the four major colors were green, red, brown, and yellow. Each of these color subclasses was further broken down: for example, green was divided into pale green, lustrous green, dark green, and so on. Finally, these subclasses (for debitage and debris) were divided into primary, secondary, and tertiary flakes. This process was continued by sorting for size (e.g., large primary flakes are likely to refit), the presence of inclusions, the presence of banding, the presence of hinge terminations, and any other distinctive sets of characteristics. At the Allen site, hinge terminations were common, and some of the chert had distinctive banding. By using this type of organization, there is the potential to end up with a tray of flakes that have hinge terminations and a tray of cores that have negative hinge terminations, making it easy to try to methodically match each of these distinctive flakes to distinctive cores. This technique should work for any distinctive set of characteristics. For example, if a tray of banded chert artifacts is assembled, it should be obvious if any of those pieces refit. The goal of this procedure is more than attempting to successfully refit the given assemblage: artifacts

that do not refit should also be discernable. Certain patterns should become visually observable after the essential categories, classes, and subclasses are established. For example, if there are artifacts with distinctive banding, inclusions, hinge fractures, and so forth and these artifacts cannot be refitted to anything in the collection, then it can be argued that the corresponding artifacts were not present, implying that these artifacts were not manufactured at the site. In order to prepare spatial distribution maps, a log of all refits was produced. This log records the provenience, artifact type, and refit sequencing (e.g., flake 1 was removed first, flake 2 was removed second, core was discarded last). The information from this log then provided the basis for generating spatial maps. Because the majority of the Allen site refits were between artifacts recovered from the same grid square, we did not produce refit maps for all levels. When we did produce maps and the mapped sequences included three or more artifacts, the artifact sequence was drawn according to the order in which each component of the sequence was struck (Cziesla 1990). This point may seem trivial, but it is actually crucial, for drawing the lines any other way presupposes some type of patterning. Results: Artifact Densities and Lithic Refitting Vertical Patterning at the Allen Site Refit sequences, analyses of the vertical distribution of artifacts, and feature distributions together suggest that the vertical structure of the archaeological material from the Allen site is more complex than suggested by a simple division into Occupation Levels 1 and 2 and an Intermediate Zone, although these lines of evidence do indicate that the three basic divisions (OL 1, IZ, and OL 2) are potentially useful units of analysis. First, the vertical distribution of hearths (Figure 9.1) clearly indicates an overall pattern of recurrent occupation, although there appears to be some clustering of hearths on the surface of OL 1 and just below the surface of OL 2. Considered in terms of the nine stratigraphic units defined in chapter 8, there are no hearths in levels OL 1 Upper or OL 2 Upper or above OL 2 (Table 9.1). Also, based on the distribution

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Figure 9.1 Vertical distribution of hearths relative to the surface of Occupation Level (OL) 1 and OL 2 (originally appeared in Bamforth 2002b).

of features, it appears that the site was occupied prior to the stabilization of the surface of OL 1 (as evidenced in Figure 9.1; Features 6, 10, 23, and 34). Two of the denser concentrations of hearths, one at and just below the surface of OL 2 and one on the surface of OL 1, are mirrored in the density of lithic material depicted in Figure 9.2. This figure presents counts of flaked-stone artifacts (debitage and worked pieces) per cubic foot of excavated deposits in each of the stratigraphic units defined in chapter 8 (Table 9.1 also presents these data). Given the possibility that rodents have dispersed at least some of the material in the site away from the original discard location, this figure could be interpreted as showing two episodes of artifact deposition with material from these episodes being gradually dispersed over time. However, several patterns suggest that the two peaks in artifact density indicated in Figure 9.2 oversimplify the actual structure of the site.

Table 9.1: Volume of Excavated Sediments and Number of Artifacts per Stratigraphic Level at the Allen Site Level

Approx. # Artifacts/ Excavated Provenience Volume (ft3) # Artifacts/ft3 Unit #Hearths

Above Occupation Level (OL) 2

—a

—a

8.6

0

OL 2 Upper

392

1.1

40.5

0

OL 2 Surface

392

1.1

16.4

5

OL 2 Lower Intermediate Zone

392 1,188

3.9 1.6

32.3 15.2

4 2

OL 1 Upper

359

0.5

6.7

0

OL 1 Surface

359

8.3

27.5

4

OL 1 Lower

359

0.8

11.5

2

Below OL 1

—a

—a

3.5

3

a

Cannot be determined accurately.

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Figure 9.2

Figure 9.3

Flaked-stone artifacts per cubic foot of excavated deposits by stratigraphic unit (data from Table 9.1).

Mean flaked-stone artifacts per provenience unit from which artifacts were recovered by stratigraphic unit (data from Table 9.1).

The first of these is the simple fact that there are hearths scattered throughout the sediments at the site, with the exceptions noted above. Hearths cannot be moved by any form of postdepositional disturbance, and the distribution of these features clearly indicates more than two episodes of occupation. Second, there is a discrepancy between the varying densities of artifacts in OL 2 Lower and OL 2 Surface (3.9 artifacts/ft3 and 1.1 artifacts/ft3, respectively) and the very similar numbers of hearths in these units (four and five, respectively). The high frequency of hearths at the surface of OL 2 suggests a relatively more intense use of that surface than the low density of artifacts associated with them does. Third, Figure 9.3 presents counts of flaked-stone artifacts per provenience unit producing such artifacts, for each of the nine finer stratigraphic units (Table 9.1 also presents these data). Whereas Figure 9.2 estimates the overall density of artifacts within each of these units, Figure 9.3 considers the concentration of these artifacts within individual grid units. This latter illustration shows three clear peaks. Two of these correspond to the artifact and hearth concentrations in OL 1 and OL 2 Lower, and the third is in OL 2 Upper. The refit data provide important additional insights to these patterns and suggest strongly that

there has been very little vertical movement of material within the site. The complex slope of the occupation surfaces within the site makes it difficult to depict vertical refit patterns graphically, but they can be tabulated easily. To do this, we divided the refitted sequences into two groups. The first of these are those that include two or more artifacts with sufficiently precise provenience that we can place them within our nine stratigraphic divisions. The second includes sequences in which no more than one of the refitted pieces has precise provenience information, with this information limited for the other pieces to notes in the catalog specifying which of Holder and Wike’s three strata produced the artifact. This distinction is important because our finer subdivisions of the strata sometimes place artifacts in different units than the initial field impressions did. To assess these changes, we examined those catalog entries that include both Holder and Wike’s stratigraphic designations and precise depth measurements. Not surprisingly, in most cases where both of these kinds of information were recorded, our designations matched those made in 1948 at the level of the three basic stratigraphic units (89 of 117; 76.1 percent). Of those that did not match, slightly more than half (16 of 28; 57.1 percent) involved entries initially designated in the catalog as part of the OL 1 collection that our

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Table 9.2: Refits among Stratigraphic Levels for Artifacts with Specific Vertical Provenience Level

Above Occupation OL 2 Level (OL) 2 Upper

Above OL 2 OL 2 Upper OL 2 Surface OL 2 Lower Intermediate Zone OL 1 Upper OL 1 Surface OL 1 Lower

— — — — — — — —

— — — — — — — —

OL 2 Surface

1 — 4 — — — — —

analysis moved into the IZ; most of the rest (9 of the remaining 12) involved changes between OL 2 and IZ. That is, our analysis placed some of the uppermost artifacts that Holder designated as coming from Occupation Level 1, and some of the lowermost artifacts that he designated as coming from Occupation Level 2, into the Intermediate Zone. These data imply that we cannot know for certain whether or not refits of artifacts between OL 1 and IZ or between OL 2 and IZ actually indicate stratigraphic displacement of artifacts when those artifacts’ provenience is known only on the basis of stratigraphic designations in the field catalog, with no record of absolute depth; such cases are ambiguous. Tables 9.2 and 9.3 summarize the relations among stratigraphic units indicated by the refitting data for, respectively, artifacts with exact vertical provenience and artifacts whose provenience is known only to the level of Holder’s three basic strata. These data clearly suggest that very little vertical movement of artifacts has occurred: 38 of 39 (97.4 percent) of the connections in Table 9.2 and 19 of 25 (76.0 percent) of the connections in Table 9.3 are within, rather than between, strata. Of the refits that are not within strata, only two sequences—one with specific provenience linking the surface of OL 2 and the deposits above OL 2 (Table 9.2) and one with less clear provenience linking OL 2 and OL 1 (Table 9.3)—offer definite evidence of artifact movement; for reasons just noted, the other cases in Table 9.3 that are not clearly within strata cannot be definitely interpreted. The presence of rodent burrows

OL 2 Intermediate OL 1 Lower Zone Upper

— — — 2 — — — —

— — — — 10 — — —

— — — — — — — —

OL 1 Surface

OL 1 Lower

— — — — — — 21 —

— — — — — — — 1

Table 9.3: Refits among Stratigraphic Levels for Artifacts with General Vertical Provenience Level

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

Occupation Level 1 Intermediate Zone Occupation Level 2

1 1 1

0 0 3

0 0 14

noted during the excavation (for example, the burrow that produced the charcoal whose date is discussed in chapter 3) leaves no doubt that some vertical disturbance of the site must have occurred, but the data derived from refitting indicate that this disturbance was minimal. Most of the units included in Table 9.2 are between 2 and 4 in thick, and the absence of refits between these strata indicates a surprisingly intact vertical distribution of artifacts. The exception to this is the Intermediate Zone, which is, on average, roughly 14 in thick. There are only seven sequences with sufficiently detailed provenience information to search for finer divisions within this zone, and these offer no clear evidence that such divisions exist. Because the thickness of the IZ varies across the site, examining the absolute position of artifacts within the zone is not a viable means of demonstrating this pattern. Instead, we converted absolute depths by calculating the distance of each artifact in a sequence from the surface of OL 1 and dividing this value by

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Figure 9.4 Vertical refits among artifacts in the Intermediate Zone. This figure presents artifact depths as a percentage of the distance between Occupation Level (OL) 1 and 2 in the grid square in which each refitted artifact was found.

the distance from OL 1 to OL 2 in the grid square in which the artifact was found, producing a measure of the proportionate distance of each artifact between the two buried soil surfaces. Figure 9.4 presents the results of this conversion. Although it is possible that there may be a distinction between the two highest and five lower sequences within IZ, this is certainly not definite; the overall pattern shows linkages throughout the zone. Furthermore, as is discussed in the next section, the upper linkages are within the same major horizontal cluster of artifacts as many of the lower linkages. We have no explanation for the apparently greater degree of vertical dispersion of artifacts in IZ than in the other levels of the site, but we note that the absence of linkages between IZ and the other strata does indicate that this level forms a discrete and coherent unit of analysis. The data on artifact density and concentration, then, identify a minimum of three vertical units of analysis: OL 1 Surface and OL 2 Lower (with artifacts in these units being both dense and concentrated) and

OL 2 Upper (with artifacts here being sparse but quite concentrated). The distribution of hearths adds some complexity to this pattern: relatively large numbers of hearths are associated with OL 1 Surface and OL 2 Lower, but they are also present in OL 2 Surface, IZ, OL 1 Lower, and below OL 1; hearths are relatively numerous on the surface of OL 2. Only the deposits above OL 2 and in OL 1 Upper lack hearths and show relatively dispersed and low-density artifact distributions. However, refit patterns show virtually no links among any of the nine finer divisions of the site’s strata. Given that these divisions are more or less arbitrary, this pattern is probably best interpreted as indicating that artifacts deposited during any given occupation of the site are unlikely to have moved any great distance vertically. We turn now to the horizontal distribution of artifacts within these nine units to see whether or not this additional information can help us to isolate a smaller number of levels for analysis; the concluding section of this chapter considers both the vertical and horizontal data. Horizontal Patterning at the Allen Site This section focuses on four aspects of the horizontal patterning in the Allen site data: hearth distributions, overall artifact densities, horizontal patterns of refits, and horizontal size-sorting. Unfortunately, not all of the nine stratigraphic divisions of the site produced sufficient material to support all of the analyses in this section; the collections from above OL 2 and below OL 1 are particularly small. However, we have included data from as many of the divisions as possible at each step. We begin by considering artifact densities and, where sufficient measurements are available, horizontal size-sorting of artifacts in each of the nine units defined in chapter 8. We then turn to consider horizontal refit patterns in those units with enough sequences to support analysis. Horizontal Artifact Densities In contrast to the discrete patterning indicated by the vertical refits, the horizontal density plots show very similar distributions of artifacts in many of the strata (Figures 9.5–9.13); overall, the main concentration of

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Figure 9.5

Figure 9.6

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for below Occupation Level 1. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Lower. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Figure 9.7

Figure 9.8

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Upper. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

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Figure 9.9

Figure 9.10

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for the Intermediate Zone. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Lower. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Figure 9.11

Figure 9.12

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Surface. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Upper. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

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Figure 9.13 Hearth locations and horizontal density of flaked-stone artifacts by excavation grid square for above Occupation Level 2. Contour interval is 25 artifacts per grid square.

material appears to “drift” from the more northern portion of the excavated area in the lower levels to the more southern portions of the excavated area in the upper levels. In the lowest deposits, there is a single low-density concentration in the north-central part of the site, which is more or less reproduced in OL 1 Lower, OL 1 Surface (where it covers most of the excavated area), and OL 1 Upper; a second, smaller concentration also appears to the east in OL 1 Lower and OL 1 Surface but is not present in OL 1 Upper. The artifact concentrations on OL 1 Surface correspond closely to the nonhearth features identified on that surface during excavation, and Figure 9.7 indicates the approximate locations of those features. In both OL 1 Lower and OL 1 Surface, the main concentration has two peaks, but these are offset slightly from one another in the two levels. In the Intermediate Zone, there is a considerably expanded concentration with two peaks covering most of the excavated area; these two peaks are also present, but slightly displaced, in OL 2 Lower. OL 2 Surface sees the bulk of the artifacts shift to the south and displays three peaks within a relatively diffuse concentration. OL 2 Upper loses one

of these completely, shows one very weakly, and retains the third (the densest of the three), again slightly displaced. Finally, the deposits above OL 2 show a single low-density concentration with one weak and one clearer peak, with the concentration partially, but not completely, superimposed on the major concentration in OL 2 Upper. Figures 9.5 through 9.13 lump together all lithic artifacts regardless of category, and it is possible that this might obscure potentially important patterning. Although the specific artifact categories defined in chapter 10 occur in the nine units considered here in frequencies that are too low for meaningful analysis, we did examine the distribution of retouched pieces, using the same techniques as for the overall distribution of flaked stone. This produced results that are identical to those in Figures 9.5 through 9.13; as these maps add nothing to the patterns already documented, we do not reproduce them here. Given this, and taking account of the small numbers of artifacts involved in several of these distributions, we can see no justification for pursuing more refined distributional studies. In one case it is also possible to examine the distribution of material other than flaked-stone artifacts. Originally, detailed field maps were produced for at least some of the material found in concentrations and designated as “features” on the surface of OL 1, thus making it possible to map the density of bone in that stratigraphic unit as well. It is essential to treat this map (Figure 9.14) as no more than a tentative overview of the general distribution of bone in this unit: it includes only point-plotted material and excludes “nonfeature” areas. However, as just noted, the “features” in this case correspond closely to vertical and horizontal concentrations of cultural material that were discernable in the field. It thus seems reasonable to use these data, cautiously, as indicators of the overall distribution of bone on the surface of OL 1. With this caveat in mind, it is apparent that the OL 1 Surface bone shows a virtually identical distribution to the OL 1 Surface lithic material.

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Figure 9.14 Density of point-plotted bone by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. Contour interval is two bones per grid square.

Size-Sorting As a later section discusses, patterns of human discard often result in horizontally size-sorted distributions of artifacts. However, natural processes, particularly flowing water, can also systematically size-sort and otherwise rearrange surface scatters of artifacts. There are at least two possible sources of flowing water at the Allen site: downslope runoff into Medicine Creek and floods up out of Medicine Creek. As chapter 3 notes, the pollen and charcoal data indicating that the Medicine Creek drainage was heavily vegetated suggest, although they obviously do not guarantee, that artifact movement as a result of downslope flow of water should have been minimal (cf. Behm 1985). This also seems likely given the fairly gentle slope of the reconstructed soil surfaces. The ability of substantial floods to move artifacts, though, is less limited by these factors, and it remains possible that such floods or simple runoff did disrupt the original spatial patterning of the material on the occupation surfaces. A pattern in which smaller artifacts tend to concentrate in downslope areas would suggest sorting by

natural forces, like floods, which can move smaller objects greater distances than larger objects (Bamforth and Dorn 1988; Rick 1976). Behm (1983) has shown that the range of flake sizes in debitage concentrations, and particularly the proportions of the smallest sizes, can be very helpful in identifying intact concentrations, although Baumler (1985) has pointed out that there are conditions under which this is not the case, particularly conditions under which slope wash has winnowed smaller flakes out of such concentrations. Responding to Baumler, however, Behm (1985) has demonstrated that such winnowing is minimal or absent on wellvegetated surfaces, like those that apparently existed at the Allen site. Inspecting the size range of flakes in the concentrations evident at the site, then, should help to assess the impact of colluvial processes there. Unfortunately, Behm’s specific technique of analysis relies on comparisons of the frequencies of flakes in the 1/8- to 1/4-in size range, and we cannot be confident that we can estimate the proportions of these in the Allen site collection accurately because the site deposits were not screened. However, the general notion that slope wash should preferentially remove smaller flakes can still be examined, and it is worth noting that slope wash that is capable only of moving 1/8-in flakes is not likely to have affected the site’s overall spatial patterning very severely. The size distribution of lithic artifacts on the site can be examined at two levels. First, Table 9.4 presents descriptive statistics for flakes from the grid square that produced the largest sample of measured flakes within each of the horizontal clusters identified in the preceding section. There is variation among the median values in Table 9.4, but there is only one median (for the southwest cluster in OL 1 Lower) that falls outside of the interquartile range of all of the others. The relatively large size of the smallest flake in this cluster could suggest that the episodic flooding that contributed to the deposits in the lower levels of the site (see chapter 4) may have altered the distribution of artifacts in them by removing small pieces. However, it is difficult to draw this conclusion with certainty: a single excavator who tended not to recover very small flakes, for example, could account for this case. Overall, by

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Table 9.4: Summary Statistics for Flake Sizes within Artifact Clusters at the Allen Site Level

Above Occupation Level (OL) 2 OL 2 Upper OL 2 Surface OL 2 Surface OL 2 Surface OL 2 Lower OL 2 Lower Intermediate Zone (IZ) IZ IZ OL 1 Upper OL 1 Surface OL 1 Surface OL 1 Lower OL 1 Lower

Concentration Median

West — South Northwest East Northwest Southwest North Southwest Southeast — North South North Southwest

16.5 17.6 19.0 19.8 21.8 20.3 15.2 15.1 20.8 15.5 15.3 22.2 22.5 15.3 28.2

Upper Hinge Maximum

26.6 25.6 25.7 25.5 27.7 25.8 21.7 21.8 27.0 19.3 19.5 27.7 26.1 24.4 33.8

32.7 56.6 78.5 38.0 68.6 45.5 61.2 68.8 47.2 50.7 50.1 73.0 76.4 58.8 53.3

Lower Hinge

Minimum

N

13.2 11.6 14.3 14.7 16.7 14.7 11.1 10.3 15.2 11.8 10.5 14.8 15.3 12.8 23.2

7.4 5.6 1.3 6.7 1.7 10.4 5.2 5.2 8.2 2.7 7.4 7.1 7.5 3.7 16.8

20 71 25 43 29 58 44 144 66 73 23 109 207 65 61

Figure 9.15

Figure 9.16

Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Lower. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 1 Surface. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

this general measure, there is little or no variation in the contents of the concentrations (although chapter 10 identifies a minor and progressive reduction in flake size over time). Analysis of artifact sizes across the site within each of the levels for which there is an adequate sample of

measured artifacts provides a second approach to this problem. Accordingly, Figures 9.15 through 9.20 plot the median size of flaked-stone artifacts by grid square for all of the stratigraphic divisions of the site except the above OL 2, below OL 1, and OL 1 Upper levels, all of which produced too few measured artifacts for

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Figure 9.17

Figure 9.18

Median flake size by excavation grid square for the Intermediate Zone. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Lower. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

Figure 9.19

Figure 9.20

Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Surface. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

Median flake size by excavation grid square for Occupation Level 2 Upper. Contour interval is 0.5 cm.

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analysis. Overall, these plots show a consistent pattern, with larger flakes generally occurring within the major concentrations, although the largest median values are often not in exactly the same grid units as the densest concentrations of flakes. Flake sizes decrease in all directions away from these concentrations, suggesting the kind of gradual dispersion of surface artifact concentrations that has been documented elsewhere (Bamforth and Dorn 1988; Bowers et al. 1983). With one exception, these plots show no evidence for downslope size-sorting; in some, in fact, the downslope measurements are higher than those upslope. Only the Intermediate Zone values imply some degree of downslope dispersion, and the likelihood that such dispersion occurred may help to explain the evidence for vertical disturbance within this unit that we discussed in the preceding section. Horizontal Refit Patterns Although refits are present in material from five of the nine fine-grained stratigraphic divisions of the site, linkages in OL 1 Lower and OL 2 Surface are all within single 5.0 × 5.0-ft grid units and therefore tell us nothing about horizontal relations among different portions of the excavation area. In addition, OL 2 Lower produced only two refitted sequences. We therefore consider horizontal patterns of refits in detail for only two of the units (OL 1 Surface and IZ) and discuss the overall pattern suggested by the remainder of the data as a single unit. As noted above, the lithic density pattern for OL 1 shows a single major concentration with two linked peaks of especially high lithic density; artifact numbers fall steadily off in all directions (Figure 9.7). The high-density area, with over 300 artifacts per unit, covers roughly 50 ft2; we will refer to it as the “core area.” We then define the “peripheral area” as having a lithic density of less than 150 artifacts per unit. The core area is completely surrounded by the lowerdensity peripheral area. The spatial patterning from the lithic refitting data can be observed as two interrelated but distinct sets of patterns (Figures 9.21–9.22). The first pattern centers on the core area. From this area, there are three

Figure 9.21 Horizontal linkages among refitted artifacts in Occupation Level 1 Surface.

radiating lines that lead to the site’s periphery. We can observe the second pattern along the periphery of the site. This pattern consists of refits that continuously link the periphery zone. That is, the refits link the entire artifact distribution together as a single unit. As previously discussed, the Intermediate Zone is vertically more dispersed than the other occupation zones. Based on vertical refits, IZ appears to be one zone formed from one or more occupations. Still, there may be a line of evidence for at least two occupations (or, at least, two episodes of artifact deposition) that can be inferred from the horizontal spatial patterning. As for OL 1 Surface, the distribution of lithic material within the IZ shows multiple, more or less discrete concentrations. However, unlike the case for OL 1 Surface, these concentrations are not linked by refits (Figure 9.23). The concentrations of material in the IZ, then, do not necessarily all derive from the same episode of artifact deposition. This may reflect two occupations, possibly separated by a period of time that cannot be discerned from the stratigraphy, or two episodes of discard within a single occupation.

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Figure 9.22

Figure 9.23

Hypothetical subdivision of Occupation Level 1 Surface based on linkages in Figure 9.21.

Horizontal linkages among refitted stone artifacts in the Intermediate Zone.

There are only eight sequences scattered across the remaining seven stratigraphic units, and two of these seven units (OL 1 Upper and OL 2 Upper) produced none of these. Furthermore, the only refit within the deposits above OL 2 links to an artifact on OL 2 Surface. Despite these small numbers, though, these data show a consistent pattern: all of these linkages are within single grid squares, and all eight are either within or immediately adjacent to at least minor peaks in artifact density. This pattern, then, is essentially the same as that indicated in the IZ refits, in which individual concentrations appear to be discrete entities.

and artifacts in the northern portion of the site. Elsewhere, though, hearth locations contrast sharply with the distributions of artifact concentrations: although hearths are commonly very close to artifact concentrations, only two (11.1 percent) of the 18 hearths in these levels were located in grid units with artifact densities above 25–50 objects per 5-ft square (that is, artifact densities above one–two pieces per square foot). Furthermore, in the one case where artifact measurements are available for the concentration containing a hearth (Feature 19 in the center of the Intermediate Zone), the artifacts around the hearth are small (median approximately 2.0–2.5 cm). In two cases (Feature 11 in OL 2 Lower and Feature 26 in OL 1 Lower) the feature descriptions note burned stone and bone within the hearths, implying that this material either was present on the ground surface when the fire was built or was deliberately burned in the hearth. It is possible that small artifacts associated with the hearths were lost in the field because of the lack of screening, but the excavation records make it clear that hearths were

Hearths and Artifact Concentrations As discussed in a later section, the ethnoarchaeological patterns that underlie most intrasite spatial analyses of hunter-gatherer sites focus particularly on the relations between hearths and artifact distributions. It is therefore important to consider this relation at the Allen site. The uncontrolled 1947 excavation complicates attempts to assess the relation between hearths

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examined closely and documented intensively. Written feature descriptions in virtually all cases state clearly that little or no cultural material was directly associated with the Allen site hearths. In the one case where it is possible to verify this directly (the case of Feature 27, which was preserved in the field in a plaster jacket and is held in the collections at the University of Nebraska State Museum), direct observation matches the field records: not a single artifact is visible in or adjacent to this hearth. It is clear, then, that hearths and artifacts at the site show almost perfectly mutually exclusive distributions. Technological Patterning in the Allen Site Refits The sequences that could be refitted at the Allen site are short: the maximum number of pieces that could be conjoined is five, and most sequences consist of only two pieces. This pattern is particularly striking because Smoky Hill jasper, virtually the only material represented at the site, is extremely variable in color, consistency, and inclusions, so that raw material clues indicating pieces that derive from the same block of stone are extremely common. It is thus somewhat surprising that so few artifacts can be put back together. We explore the implications of this pattern below, but for present purposes we note that it limits our ability to derive the kinds of detailed technological information that refitting has been able to produce elsewhere. However, there are important general patterns in the data. Despite the distinctiveness of many of the varieties of stone represented in the collection, none of the bifaces or the cores from the site could be fitted to any primary (that is, fully cortical) flakes. The low frequency of refits in the collection implies that it is necessary to consider this pattern cautiously, but it suggests that, rather than bringing unworked blocks of stone into the site, the Allen site knappers more often roughed out many of the pieces they worked on elsewhere. Conversely, very few sequences of conjoined flakes could be fitted to discarded cores or bifaces. Again, this pattern has to be considered cautiously, but it is fairly strong evidence nevertheless that the pieces

these flakes came from were removed from the site by the site’s ancient inhabitants. If this is so, the pattern of missing material is extremely interesting. There is a total of 39 sequences that can be identified as coming from either a core or a biface, and of these, 21 derive from cores and 18 derive from bifaces. This is profoundly different from the pattern evident in the collection of worked material (see chapter 12), which includes a total of 114 bifaces and only 19 cores. Such a pattern implies that many more cores were worked on-site than were discarded there, and this has very important implications for reconstructing the composition of the tool kit that was transported away from the Allen site and the organization of Paleoindian technology that tool kit implies (Bamforth and Becker [2000] discuss this in detail; also see Bamforth 2002b, 2003). Implications The data presented here can be viewed from two perspectives. First, they document a basic spatial arrangement of material within the Allen site that appears to have persisted throughout the period during which the site was occupied. Fundamentally, the site structure is dominated by horizontally discrete concentrations of artifacts that show very little evidence of vertical dispersion but that appear to be located in roughly the same areas of the excavation over time. Hearths are located nearby, but not within, these concentrations. Second, the data from the various stratigraphic units defined here also show a fairly complex pattern of variation on this basic theme: artifact and hearth densities and concentrations change from level to level, often independently of one another. The remainder of this chapter considers these patterns from two perspectives. First, we summarize the basic and welldocumented spatial arrangement of hunter-gatherer campsites, in order to assess what the pattern documented at the Allen site tells us about the pattern of human occupation there. Second, and more narrowly, we consider the implications of the site’s spatial structure for the way(s) in which it is possible to divide the site stratigraphically in order to search for patterns of change over time.

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The Internal Organization of Hunter-Gatherer Campsites Extensive studies of the formation of modern huntergatherer sites over the past three decades (i.e., Binford 1978a, 1978b, 1982, 1983; David and Kramer 2001; Gamble and Boismier 1991; Hudson 1990; Kent 1991; Kroll and Price 1991; O’Connell 1987; Yellen 1977) have identified a basic arrangement of living and work areas within hunter-gatherer camps that appears to characterize most and perhaps all hunter-gatherer groups. Camps are centered around an open, multipurpose area that is used for socializing, food preparation, many kinds of craft activities, and other purposes. Shelters are located adjacent to this area. Outside of this central sector, a secondary zone is used as a dump for materials cleaned from the residential area and as the location for activities that are particularly disruptive, messy, or dangerous. Cleaning of the central residential area produces a size-sorted artifact distribution, with small items that are missed in cleaning left behind in the central area and larger items concentrated in a ring around that area. Such cleaning also ensures that the locations in which tools are used in most cases differ from the locations in which they are discarded; only pieces of debris that are small enough to escape cleaning are left in their contexts of use. Hearths serve a variety of purposes in most huntergatherer camps and can be found in both the residential and the outer secondary sectors. Residential hearths can be used for warmth, light, cooking, and other purposes, and hearths in the outer area may serve these purposes and may also be useful for such tasks as smoking hides or preparing or removing glue when implements are retooled. Hearths used for special purposes (for example, hide smoking and certain kinds of cooking) may show special designs that indicate their specific purpose, but this need not always be the case. Regardless, activities around a hearth often produce a “hearth-centered” distribution of material, as debris generated in those activities is discarded in a ring a short distance away from the hearth itself. However, such a distribution can remain intact only in sites or portions of sites that are not cleaned up.

Various factors affect the details of this general pattern. For example, both shelter construction and the likelihood that people will carry out activities inside a shelter obviously vary with climate. More idiosyncratically, short-term weather conditions also affect the ways in which people use space, as does the age, gender, and kin composition of a residential group. The physical character of a campsite also can condition the use of space: the permanent back wall of a rock shelter, for example, alters what people can do and where they are likely to do it. Duration of site occupation also affects artifact and feature distributions. Sites occupied for longer periods of time are generally cleaned up more intensively and often see the specific locations of residential areas (and their associated shelters) and secondary dumps and activities areas shift from place to place, blurring artifact distributions and mixing together discarded objects from different activities and occupation episodes. Recurrent reoccupation of a single surface has much the same effect, and the mixing of objects can be particularly confusing if a surface is occupied repeatedly for a variety of different purposes. All of this is further complicated in archaeological (as opposed to ethnoarchaeological) settings by the rate at which sediment accumulates on a surface (Peter 1991): if sediment accumulates quickly relative to the reuse of a given surface, the remains of individual occupations may be preserved more or less intact, but if it accumulates slowly or not at all, they will be mixed. How the cultural and natural processes interact to create spatial patterns in a given camp, then, depends very much on both the way in which the site was occupied and reoccupied and the way in which natural geologic processes operated between and after such occupation. Understanding the interaction between these processes provides the key to assessing the pattern of occupation at the Allen site. Occupation and Reoccupation at the Allen Site Given a complex settlement pattern, in which many different kinds of task and residence groups move across the landscape for different purposes or at different times of the year, the reoccupation of a stable, open surface can create serious interpretive problems.

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As Binford (1982) points out, such a pattern may result in the same point on the ground being used for substantially different purposes at different times, and it would be exceedingly difficult to distinguish among the remains of each separate episode of use when such episodes are essentially piled up on a single surface. Because the material recovered from the Allen site accumulated over several millennia and the surfaces on which humans lived were sometimes stable for as long as several centuries, it is obviously possible that the site assemblage represents this kind of complex occupational history. This strongly suggests that we should expect reoccupation of the general site area and, possibly, that we should expect many reoccupations. However, it is possible that such occupations may not all have been superimposed within the small portion of this terrace surface that is contained within the excavated area. The depictions of the occupation surfaces in Figure 8.7 clearly illustrate segments of a landform whose general contours probably extended over large areas. Access to the main drainage of Medicine Creek would have been easiest along the tributary drainages because of the steep erosional escarpments along the main drainage, and locations near the confluences of Medicine Creek and its tributaries might therefore have tended to have been used more often for campsites than other locations. The Allen site, near the confluence of Lime and Medicine creeks, could well have been one of these favored spots. However, the topography of the inhabitable spaces along Medicine Creek would otherwise have put few limits on the areas humans could have occupied. This matters because the spatial scale at which O’Connell (1987:104–106) identifies visibly recognizable intrasite patterning is far larger than that at which most archaeologists can work. The Allen site exemplifies this problem quite clearly: the total excavated area of the site consists of a triangle 50 ft (15.4 m) on a side, for a total of approximately 1,250 ft2 (118.3 m2). An area of this size corresponds to the zone of primary deposition of a single !Kung or Alyawara household of approximately 10 people, holding span of occupation constant (O’Connell 1987:Figure 17). The arbitrary

limits of the excavated area ensure that this figure in no way tells us directly about the number of people who actually occupied the Allen site, but it does highlight the limits on the ability of the available data to inform us about the whole pattern of occupation in the site area. Thus, these data can tell us whether or not the immediate site area was occupied once or many times but cannot by themselves tell us conclusively about the full size or internal organization of any one of these occupations. Given these cautions, we turn to consider the Allen site data. Why Are There Artifact Piles at the Allen Site? The analysis in the preceding chapter identifies a reasonably clear spatial arrangement of the lithic assemblage that persists throughout the period over which the Allen site was occupied. Vertically, there appears to be an essentially continuous distribution of artifacts with little or no evidence for vertical displacement of artifacts. The principal exception to this seems to be in the Intermediate Zone, where refit patterns suggest a somewhat greater degree of vertical dispersion than is evident elsewhere (although these patterns also indicate that the IZ forms a single discrete unit of analysis). In contrast, horizontal distributions are dominated by discrete concentrations of material, with these concentrations occurring in substantially the same locations from one level to another. In some cases, the correspondence between the horizontal distributions of artifacts in adjacent levels is nearly perfect; for example, in the IZ and OL 2 Lower, artifact concentrations are virtually directly over one another. In other cases (as, for example, in OL 2 Surface and OL 2 Upper) the distributions are close but not identical. We believe that these patterns result from an interaction between recurrent human occupation of the site and fluctuating rates of sedimentation. To summarize the latter (see chapter 3 for details), the sediments below OL 1 appear to have been laid down primarily by floods. These floods eventually raised the level of the terrace containing the site above the flood level of the creek, initiating a period of surface stability that seems to have lasted for at least a century and probably for two or three centuries; this period of stability

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corresponds to the surface of OL 1. This was followed by a resurgence in sedimentation resulting not from flooding but from downslope redeposition of material. This period of sediment accumulation was interrupted once by a second, briefer period of surface stability, referred to here as OL 2. We can therefore distinguish between two basic geologic contexts within which artifacts and features were deposited at the Allen site: during most of the period of site use, human groups occupied the site and left a record of that occupation while sediments were accumulating naturally, but during two intervals of time, human occupation occurred in the absence of sedimentation. With this in mind, there are two possible sources for the kinds of distinct artifact concentrations evident at the Allen site: artifacts can be deposited directly by human beings and secondarily by natural forces. The evidence presented above provides no basis for concluding that these are natural or even moderately disturbed concentrations, and we therefore conclude that they are the products of human behavior. Humans, in turn, can concentrate lithic material as the result of in situ tool production and as secondary refuse deposits. The small number of conjoinable artifacts in the assemblage provides an important key to distinguishing between these alternatives. Simply put, there are remarkably few pieces in the collection that can be fitted together, and those that do fit together never form very long sequences. It is true that biface reduction, which clearly occurred at the Allen site (see chapter 10), can be more difficult to refit than the blade technologies refitted at many Old World sites. However, we do not believe that this factor alone can explain the low number of refits here: sequences of overlapping flakes like those removed along the edge of a biface should be identifiable, and some of the earliest successful applications of refitting involved bifacial debris (Smith 1894). Instead, we believe that two factors have interacted to produce the small proportion of conjoinable pieces in the collection. First, a pattern of reduction that produced very small numbers of flakes might produce very low numbers of refits in an assemblage, and there is evidence for such a pattern in the Allen site data. The presence

of discarded bifaces and projectile points in virtually all stages of production implies that at least some tools were finished on-site and therefore that long series of potentially conjoinable flakes should have been produced as well. However, it is not clear that such complete reduction was the dominant pattern of on-site tool production. For example, the refit data noted in the previous chapter suggest strongly that the small number of cores in the assemblage substantially underrepresents the number of cores that were flaked at the Allen site and that many cores were reduced but not exhausted, and thus not discarded, on-site (Bamforth and Becker 2000). Similarly, no evidence indicates that completely unworked nodules of stone were commonly brought into the site; rather, preliminary production of bifaces and probably cores usually occurred elsewhere, probably directly at the raw material sources. In the case of bifaces, it seems likely that partially finished, probably Stage 2 (Callahan 1979) pieces, were brought into the site; as chapter 12 notes, Stage 1 bifaces are extremely rare at the site, although this category of material can be difficult to identify. The very small numbers of finished biface fragments relative to unfinished pieces suggest that most on-site biface reduction produced not completed tools but, rather, preforms. Such incomplete reduction on-site of both cores and bifaces suggests that the production of long sequences of flakes was not the norm, and this would reduce the chances of finding conjoinable artifacts. However, it seems unlikely that such a pattern would reduce the number of conjoinable pieces per reduction sequence to the point evident in the Allen site refits. We thus believe that a second factor had important effects on the degree to which artifacts from the Allen site can be refitted and that this factor has important implications for the spatial analysis. As we note above, humans produce concentrations of flakedstone debris either by leaving such concentrations in place in tool production areas or by cleaning debris up and depositing it as concentrations of secondary refuse, that is, as dumps. It seems to us that even the reduction of a biface from a form approximating Callahan’s Stage 2 to his Stage 3 should produce longer sequences of flakes than those we have been able to identify here

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(for example, Callahan [1979] suggests that roughly 20 flakes should be detached in such an event), and the same is true for many episodes of core reduction. The artifact concentrations in the Allen site are therefore most likely to represent dumps of material generated by individuals cleaning debris from nearby living areas. We note, though, that debris gathered together and dumped immediately after it is produced—as might be the case, for example, if a knapper uses a hide or container to trap debitage and immediately carries it to a dump—should keep continuous sequences of flakes in close proximity to one another. Such a pattern is probably indicated at the Epipaleolithic Abu Noshra site in the Sinai desert, where refittable blades and flakes constituting most of a single nodule of stone were recovered within a tiny area (Becker 1999): if this material represented an in situ flaking cluster, it should have been much more widely dispersed. As this is not the pattern we see at the Allen site, we infer that the concentrations represent more generalized camp maintenance, in which debris, possibly (or even probably) including debris from more than one occupation, was collected together and moved. Such a pattern of cleaning is particularly likely to reduce the chances of finding long sequences of refittable pieces, in part because sequences from older occupations are less likely to be spatially intact. The analysis above of artifact size distributions across the site found little evidence for downslope artifact movement but did reveal a pattern in which the largest objects tended to be in or near the centers of the concentrations in each level, with artifact size decreasing in all directions away from the concentrations. This suggests rather strongly that the concentrations have been at least slightly dispersed by such natural forces as precipitation and freeze–thaw cycles (cf. Bamforth and Dorn 1988; Bowers et al. 1983) and that such processes have preferentially moved smaller pieces. Such dispersion would presumably have operated throughout the site and, in conjunction with the fairly heavy growth of vegetation on-site (see chapters 6–7), very likely would have ensured that any cleaning up of the site carried out as part of an encampment would have missed at least some artifacts. Together, these processes would

substantially reduce the chances that entire sequences of flakes were moved from place to place, again reducing the likelihood of finding refits. We therefore argue that the low numbers of refits in the assemblage reflect, first, the frequent production of fairly short sequences of flakes and, second, the likelihood that the artifact concentrations at the site are secondary dumps generated during camp cleanup, with cleanup being incomplete because of the effects of such natural processes as artifact dispersion and vegetation growth. We do not intend to suggest here that there is an automatic relation between the proportion of conjoinable artifacts within a concentration and a specific pattern of human behavior. For example, it is not the case that a high proportion of refits necessarily indicates that a flake cluster represents in situ tool production: production waste that is cleaned up immediately and transported outside of a residential area may include many conjoinable pieces, although we assume that, because the smallest artifacts are often difficult to clean up and can “fly off ” some distance, no secondary deposit of lithic material will contain every piece of waste material generated during any production episode. However, the presence of clear concentrations with such low proportions of refits is difficult to reconcile with patterns of behavior other than those we have just discussed. We also do not intend to suggest that none of the material found in the concentrations at the Allen site derives from activities carried out within the excavated area of the site, although we believe that much of this material does not derive from such activities. The presence of numerous hearths in close proximity to the concentrations leaves no doubt that Paleoindians used the excavated area for more than just dumping trash, and it is certain that debris generated within the excavated area must have been discarded there. However, we have no certain means of distinguishing this from material generated elsewhere. The likelihood that artifact concentrations at the Allen site are dumps also helps to explain the similar distributions of artifacts within the different levels of the site. It is extremely likely that any given concentration of artifacts deposited on the surface of the

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Allen site would have been visible for long periods of time, even when sediments were accumulating. We can roughly estimate an average length of exposure for a 2.0-in-thick pile of objects by considering the thickness of archaeological deposits and the length of time over which those deposits accumulated. The total depth of deposits containing archaeological material at the site was between 3 and 4 ft, and this accumulated from (roughly) 10,800 to 8,200 radiocarbon years ago, a span of time that corresponds (again, roughly) to 4,000 calendar years. However, no sediments accumulated during periods of soil formation. Although we do not know the exact length of time for which the surfaces of OL 1 and OL 2 were stable, the available evidence indicates that these periods of stability persisted for at least several centuries. For purposes of illustration, we take the approximate total length of time over which sediments actively accumulated on the site to be 3,300 years and use a maximum sediment thickness of 4.0 ft, giving an annual rate of accumulation of 0.0012 ft (0.015 in) per year. On average, then, the site would have accumulated roughly 0.44 in of deposits over the course of a human generation (30 years), implying that a 2.0-in-thick pile of artifacts would have been visible for over a century. This value is not a precise estimate of the time of exposure of every concentration of artifacts deposited at the site: it derives from very rough estimates of sediment thickness and duration of sediment accumulation, assumes that the rate of accumulation at times other than during periods of soil formation was constant throughout the period of site occupation, and does not take into account the effects of artifact dispersion or vegetation on the visibility of surface artifacts. However, we think that this estimate illustrates the point that any material discarded on the site is very likely to have been visible on the surface for fairly long periods of time. We suspect that this helps to account for the similarities in the horizontal locations of artifact concentrations in different levels in the site: the patterns evident in the spatial data suggest that later occupants of the site dumped their trash on visible piles of debris left behind by earlier occupants of the site. The scavenging of discarded artifacts, indicated by

retouch through slightly weathered surfaces on a number of the Allen site artifacts (see chapter 10), offers particularly clear evidence that artifacts were visible on the ground surface for extended periods of time. Differences in the degree of weathering on bones from different areas of the scatter of artifacts on the surface of OL 1 (see chapter 12) provide perhaps the most detailed evidence supporting the inference that the piles of material in the site are dumps that accumulated over extended periods of time. There are two low-density concentrations of artifacts in the level just below this surface, and the most weathered concentrations of bone—presumably the bone deposited on the soil surface first—are adjacent to and overlapping with these concentrations. Bone becomes progressively less weathered in the more upslope portions of the excavated areas, implying that it was exposed for shorter periods of time. Hudson’s sequence of deposition begins with Feature 28, located slightly above and just east of one of the two artifact concentrations in the sediments just below the soil surface (see Figure 9.7 [and Table 12.11]). Her data indicate that Features 12 and 13 were subsequently deposited immediately adjacent to Feature 28 and immediately over this lower concentration of material. Features 16 and 18 were then deposited southwest of this material, over and adjacent to the second concentration below the soil surface, followed by Feature 14 and then by Feature 21, both in the area to the south. The nearly identical overall distributions of lithic material and bone suggest, although they do not require, that both classes of material were dumped together, implying that the entire scatter accumulated as a result of multiple episodes of dumping, first in more downslope areas and later farther up toward the upslope margin of the terrace surface. Taken together, the available data therefore suggest that humans recurrently occupied the Allen site area and cleaned lithic debris and probably other material as part of this occupation, producing dumps in the excavated part of the site. These dumps may have been generated while preparing habitation areas during the initial phases of site occupation or while maintaining ongoing areas over the course of an occupation. We expect the first of these in almost any kind of

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habitation, but ethnoarchaeological data suggest that the latter is more common in longer than in shorter periods of site residence. However, we make this point cautiously: there are few direct analogs in modern material culture for the volume of extremely sharp debris produced during flaked-stone tool production, and stone tool users may have had to clean up activity areas more often than modern huntergatherers, particularly if very small children were present. O’Connell’s (1987:92–95) modern example in which razor blades were left in a central activity zone, probably because of their small size, is from a residential area occupied exclusively by adult men. Both the substantial accumulation of material on the surface of OL 1 and the similar horizontal distributions of material in a number of superimposed levels suggest that older dumps may have been “magnets” for newer dumps (i.e., Wilk and Schiffer’s [1979] “Arlo Guthrie trash-magnet effect”). That is, as people cleaned up an occupation area, they may have deposited the material onto existing, and probably still visible, discard piles, a pattern that also explains the absence of refits between levels with horizontally similar artifact distributions. Given such a pattern of behavior, during the most extended period of surface stability between 10,600 and perhaps 10,200 RCYBP, visible dump areas would very likely increase in size over time, resulting in patterns like that evident on the surface of OL 1. During periods of somewhat faster sediment accumulation, older dumps may have been partially buried, and later dumps may have “wandered” slightly, as seems to be the case both in the overall trend for debris concentrations to shift from north to south over time and in the slight differences in the locations of artifact concentrations in some adjacent levels. The major alternative scenario, which we believe can really be suggested only for OL 1 Surface, is that the concentrations of material evident in the site represent primary, rather than secondary, discard. As we noted earlier, the low rate of refits in the lithic assemblage makes this doubtful. However, the spatial pattern of the refits within the concentration of material on the surface of OL 1 could perhaps be interpreted as representing something like the concentrations of material

that O’Connell (1987) describes for Alyawara camps. If this scenario is correct, the large bones on this surface might represent the waste produced by activities carried out so late in the occupation that there was no reason to clean them up. However, we believe that this interpretation is unlikely. First, as noted above, the fact that the surface of OL 1 was stable for as much as 200–300 years implies that we should expect reoccupation; a single occupation in this period of time seems less plausible a priori. Second, although the median size of the objects analyzed in the above discussion of horizontal size-sorting is relatively small, the total absence of any trace of ringshaped distributions of larger objects is at odds with the ethnographically common pattern for larger items to be discarded out of central activity areas. Instead, the overall pattern is more consistent with a process of dispersion of smaller artifacts toward the peripheries of artifact concentrations, as might be expected in a dump. Differences in the degree of bone weathering in different areas of this scatter are also particularly inconsistent with this interpretation. The inference that the excavated area of the Allen site was largely a peripheral dump is also consistent with the possibility that the area of the site that was excavated may have been up against the very upslope edge of the floodplain. As chapter 8 discusses, C. B. Schultz’s identification of T3 (Pleistocene-age) terrace fill in a ravine immediately adjacent to the excavated portion of the Allen site suggests that the dumps identified here were located at the far western margin of the Medicine Creek floodplain. If Brice’s (1966; also see chapters 3–4) reconstruction of the Early Holocene topography of the Medicine Creek Valley is correct, this margin must have been marked by a steep bank eroded into the T3 and T4 deposits. An area like this, up against a bank that must at least sometimes have been in danger of collapse, would be a likely context in which to discard trash and, perhaps, a less likely context in which to carry out generalized household activities. Although the open floodplain itself likely lacked features that would have controlled the locations of such occupation, the eroded older terraces along its edges would have remained in essentially the

Spatial Structure and Refitting of the Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 145

same locations. Along with the long-term visibility of the trash heaps, this permanence may help to account for the long-term stability of the dumping areas. If this reconstruction of the site setting is correct, it also suggests that the residential areas associated with the dumps from which the site assemblage was recovered were to the east. If so, they were destroyed by Medicine Creek well before the site was discovered in 1947. Regardless, though, any remnant of them that may have been left was certainly destroyed by cutbank erosion once the reservoir was filled. Interpreting Hearth/Artifact Associations Archaeologists generally view hearths as evidence for domestic activities and often approach spatial analysis from the perspective of the kind of hearth-centered artifact distributions discussed above (Enloe et al. 1994; Koetje 1994; Vaquero and Pasto 2002). The arguments above, though, suggest that such an approach can be incorrect. First, the difference in spatial scale between the tiny hunting stand Binford (1978a) initially studied and the much larger residential base described by O’Connell (1987) suggests important limits on the applicability of Binford’s discussion to the small areas that archaeologists typically are able to excavate. The wide range of material culture present in the Allen site assemblage (see chapters 10–11) and the fairly clear evidence for extensive dumping of trash suggest that the site was almost certainly a residential base, implying that its spatial structure should look more like O’Connell’s camps than Binford’s hunting stand. The absence of detailed provenience information on the faunal debris from the site makes it impossible to systematically examine the distribution of this class of material. However, the limited data that are available show a distribution of bone that is consistent with that of the lithic assemblage, implying that the artifact concentrations evident at the site were fairly generalized trash heaps. Furthermore, at least some of the bone recovered from the site (complete or almost complete long bones, for example) fall unambiguously into the category of material that is most likely to be removed from core residential areas.

These issues are important because aspects of the Allen site distribution could be interpreted within Binford’s hearth-centered model. For example, the locations of a number of hearths relative to the patterns of artifact size distribution are consistent with a pattern in which larger objects are concentrated a short distance from the hearth. However, the overall spatial pattern at the Allen site is not consistent with the ethnoarchaeological expectation that hearths should be located in areas with relatively high concentrations of relatively small items, surrounded by rings of larger items. Instead, hearths at the Allen site were almost always located in very low-density areas adjacent to concentrations of trash that appear to have accumulated over extended periods of time. The regrowth of vegetation during periods when humans were absent from the site almost certainly would have obscured the hearths, which are thus likely to have been used during single occupations or, perhaps, during a small number of very closely spaced occupations. The trash piles, in contrast, appear to have remained visible and were probably reused from occupation to occupation for centuries, as the discussion above points out. In this context, the largely mutually exclusive distributions of hearths and artifact concentrations suggest that hearths were located to avoid existing concentrations and not that these concentrations accumulated primarily as a result of activities carried out around these hearths (although, of course, debris generated during use of the hearths was probably discarded on the nearby trash piles). That is, the hearths must have been located relative to the trash heaps rather than vice versa. These hearths thus appear to have been located within the zone of refuse disposal adjacent to a core residential area and therefore may have been used for cooking or for an entirely different purpose(s). Defining Units of Analysis for the Allen Site Collection In addition to helping to show how Paleoindian groups made use of the Allen site, these results have important implications for how we approach the detailed analyses of the Allen site collections. First, they suggest strongly that we cannot assume that the artifacts

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found together in a single concentration derive from the same occupation of the site, as site cleanup could easily have swept together artifacts from multiple occupations. In fact, the small number of refits in the artifact concentrations suggests rather strongly that this is exactly what happened. Similarly, the spatial arrangement of hearths and artifacts cannot automatically be interpreted in behavioral terms: during the occupations in which the hearths recorded at the site were burned, habitation areas were probably cleaned up, and the debris generated in this cleaning could easily have been deposited in eroded or unexcavated portions of the site. Although such cleanups may often have left some objects from ongoing habitation, particularly smaller objects (see above), in primary context, there are no areas where we can confidently distinguish such material from material that was moved and redeposited. Furthermore, surfaces exposed for long periods of time, like the surface of OL 1, may have been occupied and cleaned up more than once. If we are right, more detailed analyses of artifact distributions than those presented above are unlikely to tell us much about the spatial organization of activities at the site. However, given roughly 4,000 calendar years of at least intermittent site occupation and the focus of our research on long-term patterns of adaptive change, it is important to partition the site assemblage into analytically useful and stratigraphically meaningful units to search for temporal patterns in the data. As chapter 8 discusses, Holder and Wike (1949) originally recognized three stratigraphic/cultural units at the Allen site: Occupation Level 1, the Intermediate Zone, and Occupation Level 2. Geomorphic data (chapter 3) make it clear that the two occupation zones are actually buried soils and that this tripartite division of the site therefore primarily reflects sedimentary rather than human processes. We therefore can hope, but cannot automatically assume, that Holder and Wike’s three divisions are analytically useful. However, we believe that the data presented here indicate that Holder and Wike’s division is one of a number of reasonable ways of dividing the site collection. Two lines of evidence particularly support

this conclusion. First, the refitting data indicate that there has been remarkably little vertical displacement of artifacts, except within the IZ. This implies that, so long as this unit is retained intact, even the gross division of the site into only three strata provides us with temporally discrete units of analysis, although these units represent relatively long spans of time (perhaps as much as 1,000 years). Finer divisions of the site, such as the largely arbitrary ones used here, simply partition these spans of time into shorter intervals. So long as stratigraphic divisions follow the surface contours indicated by the slope of the ancient soil surfaces, then, it is potentially possible to slice the site in many different ways. The second line of evidence indicating that this is so is the essentially continuous vertical distribution of artifacts through the site sediments: despite the long period of occupation the site represents and the absence of vertical movement of artifacts through the sediments, the locations of artifact concentrations within the excavation grid are remarkably stable over time. We have considered this in more detail previously, but we note here that this strongly suggests that there are no absolute breaks in the vertical distribution of archaeological material—that is, there are no sterile levels discernable in the site, at least given the data to which we have access. Lacking such levels, any division of the site sediments is in some sense arbitrary, which implies that there are many divisions possible. Our choices of which divisions to use are therefore based largely on analytic expediency: later chapters break the site into as many vertical units as possible while retaining sufficiently large samples of data within each unit to support the analyses. In some cases, particularly for the faunal record, the absence of detailed provenience data makes it impossible to define stratigraphic divisions beyond the three offered by Holder and Wike. Many of the analyses to follow therefore rely on the original tripartite division of the site. Furthermore, the relatively low density of artifacts, particularly worked stone, in the upper levels of the site results in sample sizes too low to support analysis of any kind when we rely on the nine finer units we have discussed here. Other

Spatial Structure and Refitting of the Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 147

sections of the discussion therefore collapse these nine units to avoid this problem. This is particularly true in discussions that attempt to draw together all of the analyses. In these, we ultimately must consider all lines of evidence at a single scale of analysis, and much of the final synthesis is thus necessarily structured in terms of OL 1, the IZ, and OL 2. Beyond this, we note that these results suggest very strongly that we must treat the Allen site assemblage, and any stratigraphic partitions of the Allen site assemblage, as accumulations of material from an unknown

number of distinct site uses, not all of which may have occurred for the same purpose (cf. Binford 1982). The real question we ask by considering temporal patterns in the site material, then, is whether or not the aggregate pattern of human occupation of the site area changed over time: the available data do not allow us to identify anything that we can confidently interpret as the results of single occupations. Reconstructing this aggregate pattern in more detail requires more specific information on the kinds of material recovered from the site, and the chapters that follow present this information.

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Chapter 10

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage Douglas B. Bamforth and Mark Becker This chapter discusses the flaked-stone artifacts from the Allen site; the chapter that follows addresses other archaeological material and features. The relatively uncontrolled 1947 excavations produced a fairly large sample of artifacts, and the lack of vertical provenience for this material limits its analytic usefulness considerably. We include the worked stone from these excavations in some sections of our analysis below but in most cases do not consider it in detail. In the case of the debitage recovered in 1947, we simply note that such material exists but do not include it in any of our analyses. All artifact analyses are inevitably selective, focusing on some aspects of a collection and neglecting others, and this selectivity generally reflects the research issues a given analysis chooses to address (although this may not always be made explicit). Our analysis emphasizes three overriding topics: the universally important issue of culture history, the almost as universal problem of reconstructing site activities, and the organization of technology evident at the site. We therefore classify the Allen site collection into categories that, we argue, reflect patterns of artifact use and manufacture, and we focus particular attention on categories of temporal diagnostics. In addition, our analysis of the flaked stone assemblage emphasizes data that bear on the widespread characterization of Paleoindian technology as carefully designed, heavily reliant on transported bifacial cores, and raw material– conservative, particularly in its regular recycling of tools from one use or form to another (also see Bamforth 2002b, 2003). The remainder of this chapter discusses the ways in

which we analyzed the collection, describes the assemblage in terms of our artifact classification (addressing the possibility of use of heat alteration and the kinds of blanks on which tools were made), and presents the results of our microwear and blood residue analyses. It then examines the debitage, the pattern of raw material use, and the problem of distinguishing tools made and used on-site from tools carried in from elsewhere. Finally, it addresses patterns of temporal change in the assemblage. Flaked Stone: Methods The flaked stone assemblage can be divided into worked material (tools and production rejects) and unworked debris (flakes and shatter). Worked stone and debitage were processed separately as follows. Worked Stone The general category of worked stone was sorted into 11 more specific categories based on an inspection of the range of variation in the collection; one of these (edgemodified flakes) can be further subdivided. Table 10.1 summarizes the frequencies of these categories by the nine strata defined in chapters 8–9. We define these types here and discuss them in more detail below. We have taken a conservative approach to identifying flake scars on the edges of artifacts as evidence of intentional retouch. Although Paleoindian faunal analysis has been in the forefront of research into the effects of taphonomic processes, the importance of such processes has yet to be acknowledged in Paleoindian lithic analysis (Bamforth 2002b). There is excellent evidence both that forces like trampling produce traces that

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 149

Table 10.1: Frequencies of Worked Stone by Type and Stratigraphic Level

Level

Measure



1

2

3

4

5

6

Type

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

T

1 0 0 0 0 0 0 33.3

3

Above Occupation Level (OL) 2

n 0 %

1 0 0 33.3

OL 2 Upper

n 0 %

1 1 0 0 0 0 0 25.0 25.0

2 0 50.0

OL 2 Surface

n 0 %

1 1 0 12.5 12.5

2 1 0 0 25.0 12.5

2 1 0 0 0 25.0 12.5

OL 2 Lower

n 0 %

2 1 0 20.0 10.0

1 0 10.0

1 0 10.0

5 0 50.0

Intermediate Zone

n %

1 1.2

20 18 23.8 21.4

1 1.2

3 3.6

1 2.4

5 10 6.0 11.9

18 21.4

OL 1 Upper

n %

1 2.9

5 8 1 14.3 22.9 2.9

2 5.7

2 5.7

4 0 11.4

OL 1 Surface

n 0 %

6 11.8

1 2.0

2 3.9

7 13.7

OL 1 Lower

n 0 %

2 0 11.1

Below OL 1

n 0 %

1 1 0 0 0 0 20.0 20.0

OL 1

n %

5 13.2

OL 2

n 0 %

Unknown

n 0 0 %

Total

1 2.6

3

6 0 11.8 3 16.7

1 0 0 33.3

2 0 0 11.1

0

0

0

4

1 12.5

8

0

0

0

0

10

1 1.2

2 2.4

1 1.2

1 1.2

2 2.4

84

9 25.7

1 2.9

1 0 0 2.9

1 2.9

35

2 3.9

21 41.2

1 2.0

2 3.9

1 2.0

51

2 11.1

5 0 27.8

1 5.6

18

1 0 20.0

5

1 2.0

3 0 0 16.7

1 1 0 0 0 20.0 20.0

2 5.3

2 0 5.3

3 7.9

38

3 0 50.0

1 16.7

2 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 33.3

6

4 3 4 0 20.0 15.0 20.0

20

47

40

8

20

9

23

3 7.9

19

14 0 36.8

1 2.0

3 7.9

1 0 5.0

2 5.3

0

3 15.0 80

1 0 2.6

1 2 0 5.0 10.0 5

11

2

2 5.3

2 0 10.0 7

9

281

Note: Type codes—1: Stage 1 biface, 2: Stage 2 biface, 3: Stage 3 biface, 4: Stage 4 biface, 5: projectile point preform, 6: finished projectile point, 7: beveled tool, 8: core, 9: edge-modified flake, 10: perforator, 11: other tool, 12: chunk, 13: indeterminate, 14: scaled piece, T: level total.

look like use and patterned retouch (Bamforth 1998; McBrearty et al. 1998) and that archaeologists often have difficulty differentiating retouch that results from human and natural processes (Young and Bamforth 1990). As previous chapters show, it is clear that much, and perhaps most, of the Allen site collection was exposed on the ground surface for extended periods of time (and, obviously, all of the collection was exposed at least briefly), and it is certain that the collection has been altered by this exposure. We therefore do not include a category of “used flake” here, as edge damage that mimics the results of use is easily formed by many

nonuse processes. We also do not recognize a number of categories of formal “tools” that are most easily formed by such processes (for example, notches, denticulates, and “raclettes”; see McBrearty et al. 1998). Bifaces Figures 10.1 through 10.3 illustrate examples of bifaces in production Stages 2 through 4. This analysis divides bifaces by stage into four categories, following Callahan (1979). Callahan’s (1979) Stage 1 bifaces are simply the unworked blanks intended for biface manufacture and can include such objects as large unmodified flakes,

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a

b

c

Figure 10.1

Figure 10.2

Stage 2 biface fragment (lower fragment; 9351-48) refitted to Stage 3 biface fragment (upper fragment; 1213-47).

Stage 3 bifaces (a: 1214-47, b: 9212-48, c: 9502-48).

tabular cobbles, and so on. As these objects can be used for many purposes other than biface production, they can be difficult to recognize, and we include objects in this category only when they show clear evidence of minimal bifacial reduction. Stage 2 bifaces have sinuous edges and are flaked along their perimeters rather than across their entire surface; these items generally show traces of the cortex of the original cobble or the surface of the original flake blank in the center of one or more of their faces. Stage 3 bifaces have relatively straight edges and facial rather than perimeter flaking but lack fine finishing flaking and ground bases. Finally, Stage 4 bifaces, which appear to represent finished tools in the Allen site collection, have straight edges, facial and finishing flaking, and ground bases. Callahan (1979) also stresses increases in width/thickness ratios from stage to stage, but our classification relies primarily on flaking patterns; we examine width/thickness ratios below as a control on our biface classes, not as part of their definition.

a

b

c

Figure 10.3 Stage 4 bifaces (a: 925-47, b: 9338-48, c: 9615-48).

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 151

a

b

c

d

e

f

g

h

i

Figure 10.4 Finished projectile points (Occupation Level [OL] 1—a: 9014-48 [possible Hell Gap], b: 9016-48, c: 9101-48, d: 9234-48 [Agate Basin]; Intermediate Zone—e: 9215-48; OL 2—f: 9008-48 [note damage to surface from burning]; no provenience—g: 9996-48, h: 1312-47, i: 1311-47).

Projectile Points Projectile points (Figures 10.4–10.5) are lanceolate, bifacially flaked tools that are too small to fall into the biface class. Finished points (Figure 10.4) show sharp points, straight edges, and ground bases. This category also generally shows fairly symmetric longitudinal and lateral cross sections. Point preforms (Figure 10.5) include items that show the characteristics of unfinished flaking (incomplete flaking, irregular flaking patterns, irregular cross sections, sinuous edges, etc.) but that are too small to be unfinished knives and whose

outline form resembles that of finished points. We discuss the finished points in more detail below. Perforators This category includes items that have a relatively long and sharply pointed projection flaked into them (Figure 10.6). At least one of these tools is very similar to “drills” recovered from the nearby Red Smoke site (Knudson 2002) and the Niska site in Saskatchewan, the latter associated with a hearth dated to 10,880±70 B.P. (Meyer and Liboiron 1990). We avoid the term

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a

d

f

e

g

b

Figure 10.5

c

Projectile point preforms (a: 1214-47, b: 9173-48, c: 9150-48, d: 9229-48, e: 9569-48, f: 9543-48, g: 9221-48).

drill because the Allen site examples lack the kind of edge damage produced by drilling hard materials.

a

b

c

Figure 10.6 Perforators (a: 9102-48, b: 9467-48, c: 9511-48).

Beveled Tools This category (Figures 10.7–10.9) includes all of those items originally designated as “trapezoidal scrapers” by Holder and Wike, who described them thus: In outline, these scrapers are roughly triangular to trapezoidal. The base is tapered to a point or sharply rounded butt, while the nose forms the base of the rough trapezoid, the scraping edge of which may be either in a straight line or slightly curved. The working edges may be confined to the nose, or either or both sides may be working surfaces in addition. These working edges have been thinned by the removal of flakes from both faces. Typically, the nose has been chamfered or given a bevel from one face. In all cases both faces have been worked by the removal of at least a few flakes. [1949:263]

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 153

a

b a

c b Figure 10.7

Figure 10.8

Well-made beveled tools (a: 9006-48, b: 9001-48, c: 8124-48). Stippling indicates distribution of hafting traces.

Beveled tools made on scavenged biface fragments (a: 934248, b: 1529-47). Stippling indicates locations of raw material irregularities.

a

Figure 10.9 Beveled tools made on minimally modified flake blanks (a: 950348, b: 9148-43). Stippling on the left view of 10.9a indicates cortex; on the right view it indicates raw material irregularities.

b

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a

c

b

d

e g

Figure 10.10 Edge-modified flakes (a: 9305-48, b: 9352-48, c: 9448-48, d: 948248, e: 9515-48, f: 9522-48, g: 9617-48). Stippling indicates cortex.

f

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 155

We discuss this class of tools in more detail below. Edge-Modified Flakes Pieces that do not fall into any of the other categories and that bear retouch that shapes only their edges and not their faces fall into this category (Figure 10.10). Items classified as “edge modified” are primarily marginally retouched flakes, with the retouch varying from a long series of flakes that carefully shapes an edge to a few flakes scattered on an otherwise unaltered edge. Flaking was attributed to retouch rather than to use when the scars were longer than 3.0 mm and regular in size and shape. We also recognize one more specific group of tools within this category: backed pieces, artifacts with one edge that appears to be designed to protect a user’s hand and an opposing edge that is potentially useful.

a

Figure 10.12 Small multidirectional cores (a: 9351-48, b: 9400-48).

Cores Cores (Figures 10.11–10.13) include artifacts worked in patterns that appear to have been intended to produced flakes rather than a tool with a usable edge. We discuss specific core forms below.

a

a b

b

Figure 10.11

Figure 10.13

Large polyhedral block cores (a: 9582-48, b: 9411-48).

Bifacial cores (a: 9454-48, b: 9578-48).

b

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Chunks This category includes those items that are either minimally modified or unmodified fragments of flakeable stone. d

Scaled Pieces A small number of items in the collection show directly opposed flake removals and appear to have been flaked by bipolar percussion (Figure 10.14). Although these were made on artifacts in other categories, we recognize them here as a separate class of item, scaled pieces (“pieces esquillees”), because they were treated in such a distinctive manner; we recorded the original forms of these pieces when they could be inferred and discuss them in more detail below. e

a

f

b

g

c

Figure 10.14 Scaled pieces (“pieces esquillees”; a: 9025-48, b: 9056-48, c: 917548, d: 9457-48, e: 9581-48, f: 9522-48, g: 9556-48).

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 157

Other Finally, some items in the collection did not fall obviously into any of the categories defined above, and we group these together as “other.” Summary For all artifacts in all of these categories, we recorded artifact size (length, width, and thickness), raw material (both specific source identification and an overall assessment of raw material quality [fine grained, medium grained, coarse grained]), and evidence that they had either been transformed from one form to another or had been otherwise used for more than one purpose. Where a striking platform was visible on a tool made on a flake, we also recorded whether the original flake blank was struck from a core or a biface, following Lothrop (1989). Debitage Analysis of the unmodified flakes relies on 13 variables measured on 25 percent of the collection from the 1948 and 1949 excavations. The 1947 material was tabulated but not analyzed. Elsewhere, Bamforth (1983, 1991c; Bamforth et al. 1986) discusses the general rationale for the approach to debitage analysis taken here and justifies the selection of these specific variables in detail. These variables were selected to help identify the general kinds of objects produced and the stages of production carried out on the site and the kind(s) of material from which those objects were made. However, it is important to bear in mind that the absence of field screening complicates analysis of the Allen site debitage. Many techniques of analysis, particularly those based on flake size data (i.e., Ahler 1989; Bamforth 1991c; Stahle and Dunn 1982), must be applied cautiously when this is the case, and it is essential to keep this in mind when considering these data. The variables measured for the debitage include the following: • Size: Length (maximum distance from the striking platform to the distal edge), width (maximum distance from lateral edge to lateral edge, perpendicular to length), and

thickness (maximum distance from the ventral to the dorsal face). • Completeness: Each artifact was coded according to which size measurements were complete (complete, length incomplete, width incomplete, length and width incomplete). • Platform Characteristics: Four variables describing the striking platform of each flake were recorded. “Condition” refers to how intact the platform is (intact, broken away, or present but shattered). “Thickness” refers to the maximum distance across the platform from its dorsal to its ventral edge. “Angle” refers to the angle between the platform surface and the adjacent dorsal surface, measured following Dibble and Barnard (1980). Finally, we recorded the presence of cortex on each platform (coded as present, absent, or no platform). • Dorsal Surface Characteristics: Two aspects of the dorsal surface were recorded. These are cortex (present or absent) and the number of major flake removals present. • Heat Discoloration: As we discuss below, virtually the entire collection is made from Smoky Hill jasper, which turns red when it is exposed to heat. This variable notes the presence of this color change. However, it does not refer to such characteristics as crazing, potlid fracturing, or decrepitation (see Purdy 1975; Rick 1978), which are generally the results of uncontrolled heating. We distinguish between this color change and obvious heat damage because of the possibility that some of the lithic material from the Allen site was intentionally thermally altered. • Heat Damage: This variable records the presence of any of the just-noted indicators of uncontrolled heating.

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• Material Type: Because of the overwhelming dominance of Smoky Hill jasper in the collection, we simply separated out the tiny number of flakes made from other material and identified their sources as specifically as possible. We discuss these identifications below. Microwear Analysis The range of techniques that archaeologists have used to record information on the use traces left on the edges of flaked-stone tools can be organized largely in terms of the level of magnification used, which ranges from none to 5,000× (this last was achieved using a scanning electron microscope—see, for example, Anderson 1980, 1986). Experimental evidence indicates that the no-magnification technique generally produces problematic results, both because it does not distinguish accurately between use traces and nonuse traces (the latter formed by such forces as trampling and subsurface sediment movements) and because it fails to identify uses that do not produce significant amounts of edge damage (Bamforth 1998; McBrearty et al. 1998; Young and Bamforth 1990). More effective approaches to the study of flakedstone tool use are generally divided into those that examine traces (primarily edge damage and striation patterns) visible at magnifications below 75× (the “low-power” approach) and those that combine examinations of these traces with examinations of other traces (generally referred to as “polishes”) at magnifications ranging up to 400× (the “high-power” approach). Experimental data show that, although both of these approaches avoid the serious problems of “nomagnification” analysis, they differ in the level of specificity of the information they provide. Low-power analysis appears to provide accurate inferences regarding the direction of tool use and the relative hardness of the material tools were used on, whereas high-power analysis can often provide accurate information on relatively specific classes of worked material (Bamforth 1988b; Bamforth et al. 1990; Keeley 1980; Vaughan 1985). We rely on high-power analysis here. However, two important factors affect the interpretation of the

results of such an analysis of the Allen site material, and it is therefore important to discuss some of the limits on this analysis. Limitations on Microwear Analysis High-magnification use traces have been identified on a very wide range of cryptocrystalline silicates and on artifacts ranging in age from the postcontact period in North America to the Lower Paleolithic. However, it is clear that there are factors that can seriously compromise the possibility of examining these traces, and two of these are particularly important here. First, experimental research (Plisson 1983; Plisson and Mauger 1988) indicates that postdepositional exposure to a variety of chemical processes can completely remove many high-magnification traces of use. In addition, although severe chemical weathering results in obvious alterations to the entire surface of an artifact, in its initial stages of development, such weathering can strip away microwear polishes without visibly altering other aspects of the tool’s surface. High carbonate concentrations in sediments containing archaeological assemblages are particularly likely to cause this problem, and the common presence of carbonate concretions in the Allen site deposits and adhering to artifacts in the collection suggests that we should expect that carbonate weathering occurred. This is particularly important because different kinds of traces resist chemical deterioration to different degrees (Plisson 1983; Plisson and Mauger 1988), implying that the relative frequencies of different kinds of use traces on a weathered collection cannot be taken as direct estimates of the original frequencies of those traces in the assemblage. Second, because the formation of microwear polishes, the category of use trace that is often the key to recognizing relatively specific contact materials, appears to involve dissolution of a portion of the silica at the surface of the tool (Bamforth et al. [1990] summarize much of the evidence for this), variation in the composition of the stone from which tools are made will also affect the results of high-magnification analysis. The stone used at the Allen site varies considerably in composition, both from piece to piece and within a

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 159

single piece. Although finished tools in the assemblage tend to be made from higher-quality (that is, higher silica content) material, they vary in this nevertheless, and the specificity of the inferences that can be drawn from different pieces thus varies as well. Taken together, interpretive problems resulting from chemical weathering and raw material variability imply that data derived from microwear analysis of the Allen site collections need to be interpreted cautiously. It is particularly likely that tasks that produce fairly subtle traces (for example, butchery/meat cutting, brief episodes of most uses, etc.) will often be unrecognizable. Importantly, because artifacts from the lower levels of the site were buried roughly 3,500 radiocarbon years (or 4,000 calendar years) longer than those in the upper levels, it is also likely that weathering problems will vary within the site: they should be more severe for the older parts of the collection and less severe for the younger material. Sampling and Analytic Techniques A total of 13 beveled tools, five proximal fragments of Stage 4 bifaces, and 56 other artifacts was examined for microscopic traces of use and hafting; an additional eight beveled tools were examined only for hafting traces. Artifacts were included in these samples with the problems just noted in mind: the sample for intensive analysis was taken to maximize the rate of used pieces found and included pieces whose size and shape seemed to make them particularly likely to have been useful tools, which showed evidence of use (in the form of obvious edge damage) or potential use (in the form of carefully retouched edges). We examined very few unmodified flakes. All items selected for examination were cleaned following standard procedures (see Keeley 1980; Vaughan 1985) in warm soap and water, HCl, and H2O2. Oils that accumulated on them during analysis were periodically removed with acetone or white spirits. All artifacts were examined using either an Olympus BHM binocular or a Leitz Metallux microscope at magnifications from 50× to 400×, searching for polishes, striae, and edge damage. All edges of all tools in the intensive sample were examined during analysis to

ensure that it was possible to distinguish the effects of chemical weathering, which modifies all edges of an artifact, from the effects of use, which modifies only the used edge(s). Beveled tools examined only for hafting traces were inspected less intensively, but edges and flake scars were scanned to ensure that traces observed on interior ridges were not related to weathering. Numerous sources discuss in detail the kinds of traces observable using this procedure and their interpretation (Bamforth 1988b; Bamforth et al. 1990; Keeley 1980; Vaughan 1985). Blood Residue Analysis: Methods In addition to microwear analysis, 12 artifacts were submitted to Margaret Newman (University of Calgary) for blood residue analysis. This sample included two projectile point performs, five finished points, one Stage 3 biface, and four Stage 4 bifaces. These artifacts were examined using crossover immunoelectrophoresis (CIEP). Newman described her methods as follows: Cross-over immunoelectrophoresis (CIEP) is widely used in forensic laboratories to identify the species origin of body fluids (Culliford 1964). The basis of this technique is the . . . precipitin test. The test is sensitive (can detect 10–8g of protein), does not require expensive equipment and lends itself to the processing of multiple samples (Culliford 1964). This is important in the analysis of archaeological materials where only trace amounts of blood are retained on an artifact. This procedure is discussed fully in Newman and Julig (1989). The method of performing cross-over electrophoresis is based on the work of Culliford (1964). Minor changes were made, following the methods of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCM Police) Serology Laboratory and the Centre of Forensic Sciences, Toronto (Royal Canadian Mounted Police 1983). As contaminants in soils, such as bacteria and chemical oxidants, may result in false positive reactions in tests for blood proteins (Culliford

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1971; Heglar 1972), it is important that site soils be included in testing. Residues were removed from the artifacts using 0.5cc of a 5% ammonia solution. This is the most effective solution for dealing with old and/or denatured bloodstains and does not damage the artifact or interfere with subsequent analysis (Dorrill and Whitehead 1979; Kind and Cleevely 1969). Approximately 1g of soil was added to 1cc of 5% ammonia solution, mixed well and allowed to extract for several days at room temperature. The result supernatant was removed and tested together with tracts from artifacts. Except where noted, anti-sera used in testing are those prepared specifically for Forensic Medicine. Although these anti-sera are solid phase absorbed to eliminate species cross-reactivity, some cross-reactions do occur between closely related species and may occur between distantly related animals. While this information forms the basis for estimating genetic distance between species and evolutionary divergence times (Lowenstein 1980, 1986), it poses a problem when attempting to identify species. Although commercial anti-sera is raised against a “specific” animal, these sera will recognize all members within the same family and immunologically close relatives. Thus “Anti-Deer” serum will react with all members of the Cervidae family as well as with antelope of the Antilocapridae family. Immunological associations do not necessarily have any relationship to the Linnaean classification scheme, although they usually do (Gaensslen 1983:241). Three additional anti-sera—bison, antelope and elk—were raised in the Department of Biological Sciences, University of Calgary. These anti-sera are species-specific. [personal communication, 1990] All specimens (artifacts and soil) are initially tested against pre-immune serum (i.e., serum from a

Table 10.2: Antisera Used in Crossover Immunoelectrophoresis Analysis Antiserum Type

Forensic Medicine Antianimal Antisera (IgG [H+L chains]) Species-Specific Antisera

Species

Anti-Bear Anti-Human Anti-Dog Anti-Deer Anti-Rabbit Anti-Mouse Anti-Rat Anti–Guinea pig Anti-Cat Anti-Duck Anti-Antelope Anti-Elk Anti-Bison

nonimmunized animal). A positive result against preimmune serum could arise from nonspecific protein interaction not based on the immunological specificity of the antibody. No positive results were obtained from the artifact or soil extracts. All extracts from the artifacts were then tested against the antisera shown in Table 10.2. Flaked Stone: Results Diagnostics: Projectile Points and Beveled Tools Although most of the collection is undiagnostic in a culture-historical sense, two categories of tools (projectile points and beveled tools) can be linked to comparable material from other areas. This section therefore examines the range of variation in each of these categories. Projectile Points Typologically, the Allen site points include one Agate Basin point (from Occupation Level [OL] 1; Figure 10.5d) and a possible Agate Basin base (without provenience; not illustrated) that has been worked into a beveled tool and a possible Hell Gap base (10.5a; also

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 161

from OL 1). In addition, there are three concave-based, lanceolate points that are generically Paleoindian-like points (10.5c, e, and g) and two leaf-shaped points that are not typologically diagnostic and that might not even be identifiable as Paleoindian artifacts had they not been recovered from unambiguously dated deposits (10.5b and h). Finally, there is the distal portion of a point whose surface is badly heat damaged; lacking its base and most of its flaked surface, this cannot be typed with any confidence (10.5f). The slightly irregular outline of this last point is related to heat damage; its straight edges and clear finishing flaking on its margins indicate that it is finished. Two of the lanceolate points are obliquely flaked and thus should date to very late Paleoindian, probably OL 2, times (Figure 10.4f and h). Unfortunately, though, these are unprovenienced: one was recovered during the 1947 excavations, and the other was found during analysis in a box obtained from Joyce Wike that otherwise contained photographs, field notes, and other documentation from the 1948 excavations; its association with the site is therefore not absolutely certain. This latter point is complete and shows an asymmetrical lanceolate form, a concave base, and irregular parallel-oblique flaking. The point recovered in 1947, in contrast, shows considerable manufacturing skill along with evidence of being resharpened at least once. This point, which is missing its tip, was apparently originally lanceolate, with a smooth lenticular cross section and finely executed parallel-oblique flaking. The original basal configuration is unknown, as the base has been reworked. The reworking relied on parallel-collateral rather than oblique flaking and produced a slightly beveled cross section. The base was heavily ground after it was reshaped. As a group, the points show a wide range of technical sophistication. Broadly speaking, they can be divided into larger and more carefully made pieces, all of which are broken, and smaller and less carefully made pieces, all of which are complete. The latter category shows irregular plan view and longitudinal cross sections, unpatterned flaking patterns that sometimes leave visible remnants of flake blank surfaces, and relatively low width/thickness ratios.

Beveled Tools This second category of tool is common at the Allen site but is rare in sites of similar age elsewhere on the Great Plains, although Wheat (1979) records a single example of a similar tool (which he refers to as a “combination tool”) at the Jurgens site and Wheeler (1995) records examples at Angostura Reservoir in South Dakota. Davis also recovered tools of this type in the last year of work at Red Smoke and notes that “some of these tools [end scrapers from Red Smoke] are really bifacial scrapers” (1954a:59). Further analysis of the Red Smoke assemblage thus may identify more of these artifacts. However, typologically similar (although not identical) tools are diagnostic of Dalton occupations in the Southeast (Morse and Goodyear 1973) and are common in Archaic and late Paleoindian contexts in Texas and northern Mexico, where they are usually referred to as “Clear Fork gouges” (Hester et al. 1973; Hofman 1978a; Howard 1973). Virtually identical tools have also been identified in Archaic sites elsewhere on the Central Plains (Witty 1982), and the “plano-convex bifaces” identified in Wyoming by Mulloy and Steege (1967) may also represent this general class of tool. We recognize four distinct subclasses of these tools at the Allen site on the basis of manufacturing strategies: those made on very thin tabular pieces of jasper (n = 4), those made on flakes with a minimum of shaping (n = 6), those made on blanks scavenged from the waste resulting from the manufacture of other tools (n = 7), and well-worked plano-convex biface pieces that appear to represent a distinct production trajectory (n = 4). Two additional pieces are fragments of beveled tool bits and cannot be assigned to any of these categories. Hofman (1978b) has identified a very similar range of technological variation in Clear Fork gouges in Oklahoma. In the first subclass tools are manufactured from thin slabs or tabular pieces of stone and are trapezoidal in outline and flattened in cross section. Three of these pieces were shaped by working a bevel into the wide end of the tool and by flaking one lateral edge; the fourth was fairly carefully flaked bifacially on all edges. Cortex is present on all four specimens. In one case, the triangular outline characteristic of this class

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of tools was achieved by simply snapping one edge of the blank, rather than flaking it into shape. Tools in the second category fall within a broad morphological range, but all specimens show substantial remnants of original flake scars and striking platform. These tools uniformly show the minimum amount of retouch required to achieve the overall form of this general class of implement. One example particularly resembles the tabular subtype, with a worked bit and lateral edge, but is grouped into the second subtype because it was manufactured from a flake blank. Another specimen appears to be made on a flake driven from a bipolar core. The third category of beveled tools includes implements made on blanks scavenged from three sources: end-shocked Stage 3 biface fragments (n = 5), a possible projectile point preform, and a possible beveled tool or end scraper made on the proximal portion of a projectile point. The biface fragments are recognizable by their obvious bifacial flaking, lenticular rather than plano-convex cross section, and trough-shaped bit formed by working the broken edge of the biface by flaking parallel to the longitudinal axis of the tool. Finally, the fourth subclass consists of four specimens that appear to represent the end result of a distinct production trajectory and that clearly do not represent scavenging or recycling of other production waste. All of these tools show plano-convex cross sections and are bifacially worked but exhibit a wide range of flaking quality. Two of them were made on flake blanks, as were the tools in the second subclass, but are distinct from those tools in the extent to which they were retouched; blank types for the other two tools in this class cannot be discerned. A number of these implements show a macroscopic rounding or abrasion of the flake scars on the dorsal (convex) surface and occasionally on both surfaces. Examined microscopically, this rounding reveals itself as a marked polishing and abrasion of the high points of the stone surface that is always confined to the proximal portion of the tool (that is, the portion of the tool opposite the beveled edge). With the exception of a single biface, this trace (described in more detail in the section below on the results of the microwear

analysis) is present on no other category of tool in the Allen site collection. Although hafting traces are often difficult to identify (Anderson-Gerfaud and Mellars 1990; Bamforth 1991c:221–222; Cahen et al. 1979:681; Rots 2003; Vaughan 1985), the restriction of this trace to a single class of artifact and its consistent location on the portion of these artifacts most likely to have been held within a haft certainly suggest that this wear was produced by small movements of the tool against a relatively hard handle. Although duration of use is not the only variable determining the degree of development of microwear traces, it is a very important variable (Bamforth 1988b; Bamforth et al. 1990), and the degree of development of this wear (in many cases it is macroscopically visible) suggests that it results from extended periods of use. Reconstructing the handles in which stone tools were often used is extremely difficult, but the evidence available here offers at least some insights into this. First, hafts that incorporate adhesives are designed to completely immobilize a blade in its handle, thus preventing the formation of wear (although the adhesive itself is occasionally preserved on the tool’s surface [Bamforth 1991c]). The presence of haft wear therefore implies the absence of adhesive. Furthermore, Anderson-Gerfaud and Mellars (1990) have shown experimentally that the distinction between unifacial and bifacial haft wear reflects the difference between a haft in which the blade is bound directly to its handle (producing a tool in which the blade contacts the haft on only one face) and a split haft, in which the tool is placed within the handle and held in place by the pressure exerted on the haft by bindings wrapped around it (producing a tool in which the blade contacts the handle on both faces). The wear traces on the beveled tools thus imply the use of two kinds of hafts, although, of course, the exact configuration of the entire handle (straight, bent, etc.) remains invisible. Table 10.3 summarizes the frequency of hafting traces for the four varieties of beveled tools recognized here. Note that the presence of cortex makes microscopic analysis impossible; artifacts with cortical surfaces are included under the “indeterminate” category of haft traces in this table.

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 163

Table 10.3: Frequency of Haft Traces on Varieties of Beveled Tools Variety

Unifacial Traces

Bifacial Traces

No Traces

Indeterminate

Tabular blank Flake blank Scavenged Well made Indeterminate

0 3 4 3 0

0 0 2 0 0

0 3 0 1 0

4 0 1 0 2

Total

10

2

4

7

Table 10.4: Description of Backed Pieces Catalog No. Stratum Backing

8040-48/1213-47 (refitted) 9307-48

Occupation Level (OL) 1

Partially natural/partially worked squared edge noncortical edge

Unknown

Unknown

Cortical edge

Cut hide

9132-48 Intermediate Zone 9515-48 OL 1

Use on Edge Opposite Backing

Chalky (noncortical), partially Unknown worked/partially natural

Cortical edge

9476-48 OL 1

Cut hide Naturally rounded/partially battered noncortical edge

9477.05-48 OL 1 Steeply retouched/step-fractured unifacial edge 9482-48 OL 1 Steeply retouched noncortical edge

Scrape bone/antler Not examined (recent edge damage present) Butcher

9073-48

OL 1

Bifacially flaked/heavily ground or battered

Cut bone/antler

9497-48

OL 1

Unifacial retouch and grinding

Cut hard material

Other Tool Classes: Edge-Modified Flakes and Scaled Pieces The general category of “edge modified” subsumes a wide range of variation, and this variation particularly highlights the diversity of the implements in the collection. In addition, although there is not a large number of scaled pieces from the Allen site, we also discuss them in more detail given the significance attached to this class of artifacts in Paleoindian research elsewhere (i.e., Goodyear 1989). Edge-Modified Flakes This is a fairly general category of tools. As noted above, we recognize a somewhat more specific subset of edge-modified flakes that we refer to as “backed pieces.” The backed pieces (n = 9) are particularly

diverse (Table 10.4 describes these): no two of these were made the same way, with “backing” consisting of cortical edges, ground and unground bifacially and unifacially retouched edges, and a hinge fracture. The working edges on these range widely in form, as do the uses indicated by microwear analysis (see below). The other edge-modified pieces are also diverse and include cortical and noncortical pieces and a wide range of sizes and degrees of retouch. Despite the range of formal variation in these classes of artifacts, though, they are united at a basic technological level: 85 percent (15 of 19) of those with intact platforms show flat, unfaceted striking surfaces and exterior platform angles of approximately 90°, implying that they were struck from cores rather than from bifaces. Three of the noncore-struck pieces were driven from what appear to

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have been Stage 2 bifaces; the parent piece of the last tool is unidentifiable. Six edge-modified flakes (9247.01-48 [Intermediate Zone], 9307-48 [no provenience], 9318-48 [Intermediate Zone], 9496-48 [OL 1], 9514-48 [no provenience], 9617-48 [OL 1]) also show retouch scars truncating at a weathered surface. They therefore must have been struck, and perhaps used, before being discarded and exposed on the ground surface for some time prior to being selected for use or reuse. These were thus clearly scavenged from previously flaked material, and it is worth noting that this total almost certainly underrepresents the amount of scavenging in the collection because it includes only those pieces in which retouch clearly truncates at a weathered surface. The degree of weathering on these pieces ranges from macroscopically to microscopically visible: pieces that were scavenged before they became at least microscopically weathered would not be identifiable. Scaled Pieces The total of nine scaled pieces (“pieces esquillees”) is also diverse (Figure 10.14). Artifacts in this category have one of two distinct cross sections: either they are triangular (or wedge shaped) or they are rectangular (or blockier). In this latter case, the opposed scars that define this general class of object originate from flat surfaces rather than from acutely angled edges. Scaled pieces were made on flakes (n = 3) and Stage 2 biface fragments (n = 4; the original form of two other pieces cannot be discerned). All of the flake-based examples, two of those made on biface fragments, and the indeterminate pieces show wedge-shaped cross sections. One of the pieces with a wedge-shaped cross section shows bifacial striae perpendicular to the edge opposite the battered edge along with a weakly developed polish that is consistent with use on an unidentified hard material. These traces are consistent with use as a wedge (cf. Keeley 1980). Although a single artifact cannot by itself identify the use of an entire class of artifacts, these traces and the distinction between wedge-shaped and blockier cross sections together suggest that scaled pieces were likely used for more than one purpose, with the wedge-shaped pieces

perhaps intended as tools and the blockier pieces as cores. Bradley and Frison (1996:64) identify scaled pieces at the Mill Iron site as wedges on the basis of spatial and refitting patterns. Production Waste: Bifaces and Cores Bifaces, most often in intermediate stages of production, are the most common class of artifacts in the collection; cores are far less numerous. Tables 10.5 and 10.6 summarize basic descriptive information for the bifaces by stage of manufacture and show several clear patterns. The simplest of these is the substantial difference in the frequencies of artifacts in each of the four stages represented at the site: Stages 2 and 3 are very common, but Stages 1 and 4 are not. As noted above, the low frequency of Stage 1 pieces probably in part reflects the difficulty of identifying these confidently; the artifact coded as Stage 1 here shows minimal bifacial flaking but was apparently discarded before attaining a form that could be classified as Stage 2. Other factors that are likely to account for this include low failure, and therefore low discard, rates in the earliest stages of production and the initial reduction of bifacial preforms at nearby quarries. Stage 4 bifaces Table 10.5: Mean Dimensions for Stage 2, 3, and 4 Bifaces from the Allen Site (Complete Measurements Only) Dimension

2

Stage 3

Length Mean 63.5 68.1 SD 18.0 15.3 N 15 11 Width Mean 48.8 43.1 SD 7.9 9.3 N 23 34 Thickness Mean 20.0 14.7 SD 6.0 4.6 N 43 42 L/W Ratio 2.40 2.93

4

82.9 4.5 2 40.9 10.9 5 11.3 4.0 8 3.62

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Table 10.6: Nonmetric Characteristics of Allen Site Bifaces by Production Stage 1 Characteristic

n

%

n

Biface Stage 2 %

3 n

%

4 n

Cortex 1 face 0 0.0 6 10.9 5 10.6 2 2 faces 1 100.0 9 16.4 4 8.5 0 None 0 0.0 40 72.7 37 78.7 5 Indeterminate 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 2.1 0 Heat Discoloration Yes 0 0.0 9 16.4 9 19.1 0 No 1 100.0 46 83.6 36 76.6 7 Indeterminate 0 0.0 0 0.0 2 4.3 0 Heat Damage Yes 0 0.0 5 9.4 4 8.9 0 No 1 100.0 47 88.7 39 86.7 7 Indeterminate 0 2.0 1 1.9 2 4.4 0 Blank Type Flake 0 0.0 9 16.7 8 17.8 0 Tabular 1 100.0 9 16.7 3 6.7 0 Other 0 0.0 0 0.0 1 2.2 0 Indeterminate 0 0.0 36 66.7 33 75.3 7 Granularity Coarse 1 100.0 4 7.3 2 4.3 0 Medium 0 0.0 15 27.3 9 19.1 1 Fine 0 0.0 35 63.6 34 72.3 6 Indeterminate 0 0.0 1 1.8 2 4.3 0 Cracks Yes 1 100.0 8 14.8 2 4.4 1 No 0 0.0 45 83.3 40 88.9 6 Indeterminate 0 0.0 1 1.9 3 6.7 0 Inclusions Yes 0 0.0 32 59.3 14 31.1 1 No 1 100.0 22 40.7 31 68.9 5 Indeterminate 0 0.0 0 0.0 0 0.0 1

appear to have been the finished form of knife made at the site, as evidenced by heavy grinding on basal fragments in this class. Most of the bifaces recovered from the site are broken, but the available data on biface size show a steady decrease in size from stage to stage, along with a parallel increase in width/thickness ratios. Although there

%

28.6 0.0 71.4 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 0.0 100.0 0.0 14.3 87.7 0.0 14.3 85.2 0.0 14.3 71.4 14.3

are no Stage 4 bifaces with all measurements complete (proximal fragments are the most common class of artifact in this stage [4 of 7]), finished bifaces had widths of roughly 40.0 mm, lengths of roughly 80 mm, and width/thickness ratios of roughly 3.5. The kinds of blanks on which bifaces were made at the site, unsurprisingly, become harder to discern in the later (more

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extensively flaked) stages of manufacture. However, where blank type is visible, the data suggest roughly equal frequencies of relatively thin tabular pieces of jasper and flakes. As we might expect, frequencies of higher-quality raw material increase from stage to stage, and frequencies of raw material flaws decrease; raw material inclusions show a particularly marked drop from stage to stage. The frequencies of heat discoloration and damage show no clear changes from stage to stage, which is inconsistent with intentional heat alteration: such alteration should have occurred early in the reduction sequence, and these pieces were therefore likely exposed to heat accidentally. Unfinished (Stages 2–3) bifaces are the only class of artifact in the collection that appears to have periodically been used for more than one purpose. First, as noted above, four beveled tools were made on fragments of bifacial preforms. Other than these four, a total of seven early-stage biface fragments (six Stage 2 fragments and one Stage 3 fragment; Figure 10.15) were used as tools other than knives. Two of these (9227-48 and 9576-48) bear grooves that appear to have resulted from use as abraders. The most likely use for these is to scrub the edges of other bifaces as part of the process of preparing striking platforms during manufacture (Sheets 1973). Two others (9356-48 and 9493-48) appear to have been treated as cores, with flakes struck from them using broken edges as striking platforms. None of the flakes so struck, though, appear to have been large enough to use. Two additional Stage 2 fragments (9228-48 and 9336-48) are battered at one or both ends and appear to have been used either to peck at a hard surface (perhaps the surface of a worn grinding stone) or as hammerstones. A final piece (9561-48) has three intersecting facets that have been worn flat while carrying out an unknown task. Initially, we speculated that this tool might have been used to peck (resharpen) a worn grinding stone (see chapter 11). However, examined at a magnification of 200×, these facets show crushing of the surface and linear features at a variety of angles but do not show abrasion tracks comparable to those produced experimentally on a fragment of Smoky Hill jasper used to peck the surface of a slab of Lyons (Colorado Front

Figure 10.15 Broken and refitted biface (9525-48). Grooves probably indicate that the lower fragment was used to abrade preform edges during biface manufacture.

Range) sandstone. It is not clear how the traces on this piece were formed. The 19 cores in the collection (Table 10.7) can be divided into two categories on the basis of size: larger cores (n = 8; mean weight 252.9 g) and small cores (n = 11; mean weight 52.7 g). The larger cores, in turn, fall into two more or less distinct categories. The first of these includes two pieces that appear to be the exhausted slugs of bifacial cores (Figure 10.13). On the clearest of these, one face shows large, opposed scars originating at the lateral edges that formed a fairly flat surface. This surface was then used as the platform for a series of flake removals that resulted in a thick, triangular cross section; one unsuccessful attempt was made to drive a flake using the point of the triangle opposite the major striking platform as a new platform. A second piece is also probably the end result of a nearly identical pattern of bifacial core reduction and shows much the same pattern of flaking, but much of the surface used as the primary striking platform has broken away along a natural fracture in the stone, and its identification is thus somewhat tentative.

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 167

Table 10.7: Cores from the Allen Site Level

Catalog # Size Category

Description/Comments

Occupation Level 1

9064 9237 9411 9522 9578 9579 9582 9612

large small large large large small small small

tabular single platform, probably anvil supported multidirectional, probably anvil supported single platform, platform surface flaked predominantly single platform bifacial core multidirectional, reused as hammerstone broken single platform, platform surface flaked multidirectional, reused as hammerstone

Intermediate Zone

84 9135 9166 9351 9336 9389 9400 9454 9485 9493

small large large small small large small large small small

multidirectional predominantly single platform predominantly single platform multidirectional, possible bipolar reduction multidirectional tabular, possible bipolar reduction multidirectional, on angular fragment, very low-quality material predominantly single platform, platform surface flaked bifacial core predominantly single platform, platform surface worked multidirectional, possibly made on fragment of Stage 2 biface

Occupation Level 2

9083

small

probable bipolar fragment

The strategy used for at least the last rounds of flake removal on both of these pieces—use of a single platform to remove overlapping flakes around the perimeter of the core—is essentially the same as that used in polyhedral block core reduction, and this is the dominant strategy used on the remainder of the larger cores in the collection (Figure 10.11). Variations on this pattern appear to have resulted either from preparation of the main striking platform or from accommodation to raw material flaws; such variation is particularly pronounced among the smaller cores in the collection. In contrast to the relatively standardized pattern of reduction evident on the large cores in the collection, the smaller cores (Figure 10.12) often show no clearly defined reduction pattern and often bear traces of bipolar flaking. These two groups of cores also differ in raw material quality: the smaller cores are uniformly made from high-quality stone, whereas most of the larger cores are made from more granular stone.

Heat Alteration? Although it is clear that many artifacts in the collection have been exposed to heat, there is no evidence that this exposure represents deliberate heat alteration. As noted earlier, the pattern of heat traces on bifacial tools in the collection is consistent with natural or accidental exposure to fire rather than intentional heat alteration. In fact, both heat exposure (in the form of reddening of the stone) and heat damage (generally in the form of crazed and decrepitated surfaces) occur in roughly similar proportions in all tool categories (Tables 10.8–10.9). Although the ubiquity of heat exposure could reflect the use of heat-altered stone for all tool categories, the damaged surfaces indicate that heat was applied even to finished tools. Such a pattern is consistent with accidental rather than intentional heating. In addition, experimental burning of lithic material in prairie fires by Picha et al. (1991) indicates that the frequency of visible heat effects varies with

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Table 10.8: Frequency of Heat Discoloration by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded) Type Measure

Heat Discoloration Total Yes No

Stage 1 Biface

N

39

47

Stage 2 Biface

N

32

39

Stage 3 Biface

N %

7.5

8

8

Stage 4 Biface

N

0

20

20

Point Preform

N

0

7

9

Point

N %

11.1

23

23

Beveled Tool

N

0

18

19

Core

N

0

71

80

Edge Modified

N

4

5

Perforator

N

9

10

Other Tool

N %

10.0

2

2

Chunk

N

0

4

5

Indeterminate

N

0

6

10

Scaled Piece

N %

20.0

80.0

258

297

Total

N

15

Stage 2 Biface

N

Stage 3 Biface

N %

17.9

Stage 4 Biface

N

0

Point Preform

N

0

Point

N %

22.2

Beveled Tool

N

0

Core

N

Edge Modified

N

Perforator

N

Other Tool

N %

10.0

Chunk

N

0

Indeterminate

N

Scaled Piece

N %

40.0

60.0

Total

N

37



%

1

33.3

8

17.0

7

% %

2

% % % %

1

5.3

9

11.3

1

20.0

1

% %

1

20.0

4

Heat Damage Yes No

3

N %

Type Measure

2

Stage 1 Biface

Table 10.9: Frequency of Heat Damage by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded)

66.7 83.0 82.1 100.0 100.0 77.8 100.0 94.7 88.8 80.0 90.0 100.0 80.0

artifact size: smaller items show such effects more often than larger items. The debitage from the Allen site is on average notably smaller than the worked stone, and, as these results predict, flakes are burned more often than other classes of items (Table 10.10). Again, the data imply that artifacts in the collection are burned as a result of accidental natural fires rather than intentional heat alteration. Overall Patterns of Blank Production The data gathered here also provide some insights into the general issue of how the occupants of the Allen site



0

% %

5

10.6

3

% %

1

% % % %

2

2.5

1

20.0

1

% %

2

Total

3

3

42

47

37

40

8

8

20

20

8

9

23

23

19

19

78

80

4

5

9

10

2

2

5

5

8

10

281

297

100.0 89.4 92.5 100.0 100.0 88.9 100.0 100.0 97.5 80.0 90.0 100.0 100.0

Table 10.10: Frequency of Heat Discoloration and Heat Damage for Worked Stone and Debitage Material

Discoloration

Damage

Debitage

27.2% (853/3,139)

11.4% (359/3,139)

13.8% (36/260)

6.3% (16/253)

Worked Stone

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 169

Table 10.11: Frequency of Blank Type by Artifact Type (Missing Data Excluded) Type

Measure





Stage 1 Biface Stage 2 Biface Stage 3 Biface Stage 4 Biface Point Preform Point Beveled Tool Core Edge Modified Perforator Other Tool Chunk Indeterminate Scaled Piece Total

Indeterminate

Blank Type Flake

Tabular

Other

N 1 0 2 0 % 33.3 66.7 N 29 3 7 1 % 72.5 7.5 17.4 2.5 N 30 5 1 1 % 81.1 13.5 2.7 2.7 N 7 0 0 0 % 100.0 N 10 4 1 0 % 66.7 26.7 6.7 N 4 2 0 0 % 66.7 33.3 N 11 9 3 0 % 47.8 39.1 13.0 N 7 3 1 1 % 58.3 25.0 8.3 8.3 N 3 58 3 0 % 4.7 90.6 4.7 N 0 3 0 0 % 100.0 N 5 1 0 0 % 83.3 16.7 N 0 0 2 0 % 100.0 N 0 1 1 0 % 50.0 50.0 N 4 3 0 3 % 40.0 30.0 30.0 N

109

produced the blanks on which they made their tools. Table 10.11 presents the frequencies of tools in each category by blank type. Just over half of the tools (53.5 percent; 131 of 245) were too extensively retouched to preserve interpretable traces of the blank on which they were made, but, of the 126 that do preserve such traces, 94 (74.6 percent) were made on flakes; the remainder of the identifiable blanks were tabular pieces of jasper. Furthermore, flakes predominate over tabular blanks in virtually every tool category. Although bifaces from all stages of reduction are present on the site, they are uniformly too small to have served as the sources of the great majority of the blanks used to make the tools

92

21

Total

2

3 40 37 7 15 6 23 12 64 3 6 2 2 10 229

in the collection. The mean width for retouched pieces that were definitely made on flakes in the Allen site collection is 47.1 mm (SD = 15.5, N = 75), mean length is 58.4 mm (SD = 17.0, N = 56), and mean thickness is 13.7 mm (SD = 7.4, N = 91). These artifacts are nearly as large as the discarded bifaces in the collection. Most retouched pieces lack their striking platforms, but, as noted above, 85 percent of those with intact platforms were made on core-struck, not biface-struck, blanks. Many of the tools from the site were made on flake blanks that are also too large to have been struck from the cores recovered from the site, and there are at least three potential explanations for this pattern. First, it

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The first alternative also cannot be conclusively ruled out, but it may be inconsistent with the absence of long sequences of conjoinable flakes in the site. Extensive reduction of the kinds of cores that seem to have been most commonly made at the site should have produced fairly long sequences of flakes that would be extremely easy to refit, and the absence of such sequences suggests strongly that large cores were rarely or never completely reduced on-site. However, the likelihood that artifact concentrations at the site represent debris cleaned up in adjacent residential areas may also help to explain the absence of long refittable sequences, as such cleanup may inadvertently disperse the individual elements of such sequences. Figure 10.16 Refitted sequences of flakes struck from block cores.

is possible that the cores recovered from the site are the last exhausted fragments of nodules that were once large enough to produce these blanks. Alternatively, relatively large flake blanks could have been produced elsewhere, perhaps at the immediate source of the raw material, and transported to the site. Finally, cores could have been present on the site but may not often have been reduced to the point where they were discarded. These are, of course, not mutually exclusive possibilities. The high frequencies of refitted sequences of corestruck flakes that cannot be conjoined with any of the cores in the collection (Figure 10.16) provide clear evidence for the third of these alternatives and indicate that cores were often brought to the site, flaked, and then transported elsewhere (Bamforth and Becker 2000). The available evidence does not allow us to rule out the second option (that flakes were brought into the site), and this is certainly a reasonable pattern of behavior to expect, given that raw material sources are so close to the Allen site. The transport of large flakes from a quarry for use elsewhere has been observed among recent stone tool users (Binford and O’Connell 1984; Gould 1978), and there is no reason to suppose that similar behavior did not occur in the past.

Microwear Analysis: Results Thirty-two (50.0 percent) of the total of 64 tools examined show interpretable traces of use, with these traces ranging from only rounding on the bits of some beveled tools to well-developed suites of polish, striae, and damage. Table 10.12 summarizes these results, recording the inferred uses in three parts (mode of use [cutting, scraping, etc.], relative contact material hardness, and specific contact material), along with an assessment of the level of confidence of each of these inferences (1 = low, 2 = moderate, 3 = high). The beveled tools show the clearest pattern of use, although the data on even this class of artifact are imperfect. The bits of these tools are often microscopically (and sometimes macroscopically) rounded, and experimental studies indicate that edge rounding like this is found primarily on tools used to process hides. Supporting the likelihood that beveled tools were used on hide, one additional beveled tool had edge rounding in addition to traces of a generalized hide polish, and a fragment of the bit of one of these tools that was apparently removed in resharpening bears intense rounding and hide polish. The poorly understood Polish A (Becker and Wendorf 1993; JuelJensen et al. 1991) is also associated with edge rounding, but experimental studies by Sliva and Keeley (1994) suggest that this polish also results from a hideprocessing activity (e.g., hide processing with plant fibers or residue). Furthermore, Polish A alters the artifact

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 171

Table 10.12: Results of Microwear Analysis by General Stratigraphic Level Level

Catalog #

Type

Mode

General Material

Specific Material

Occupation 1213/8040 edge modified — — — Level 1 8124 beveled tool scrape soft (3) hide (2) 9006 beveled tool scrape soft (2) hide (2) 9016 finished point — — — 9038 edge modified scrape hard (2) unknown 9073 backed piece cut hard (3) bone/antler (2) 9101 point — — — 9102 perforator — — — 9128 beveled tool — — — 9145 edge modified — — — 9150 point preform — — — 9164 flake cut unknown unknown 9216 edge modified — — — 9234 point — — — 9236 beveled tool scrape soft (1) unknown 9256 beveled tool scrape soft (2) hide (1) 9342 beveled tool scrape soft (2) hide (1) 9418 flake cut unknown unknown 9420 edge modified scrape soft (2) hide (2) 9448 edge modified cut hard (2) unknown 9476 edge modified scrape hard (2) bone/antler (1) 9478 edge modified — — — 9482 edge modified cut mixed (3) butcher (3) 9491 biface — — — 9496 edge modified cut hard (3) unknown 9497 edge modified cut hard (1) unknown 9503 beveled tool scrape soft (2) hide (1) 9513 edge modified cut hard (2) unknown 9515 edge modified cut soft (3) hide (2) 9521 edge modified scrape hard (2) wood (1) 9522 edge modified — — — 9522 edge modified cut hard (3) bone/antler (2) 9522/8110 edge modified cut hard (2) wood (2) 9522 scaled piece wedge hard (2) unknown 9528 edge modified cut soft (2) hide (1) 9543 point preform scrape soft (3) hide (2) 9555 beveled tool — — — 9556 scaled piece — — — 9580 biface — — — 9582 edge modified cut hard (3) wood (2) 9584 biface — — — 9590 edge modified scrape hard (3) bone/antler (2) 9617 edge modified cut moderately hard (3) woody plant (2)

Comments

bifacial haft wear dorsal haft wear use on dorsal ridge, not retouched edge

patinated

basal grinding dorsal haft wear bifacial haft wear dorsal haft ear

scavenged dorsal haft wear

bifacial haft wear; recycled as beveled tool dorsal haft wear possible haft wear two used edges two used edges scavenged (continued)

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(continued) Table 10.12: Results of Microwear Analysis by General Stratigraphic Level Level

Catalog #

Type

Mode

General Material

Specific Material

Intermediate 9004 point preform — — — Zone 9044 flake cut unknown 9044 flake cut unknown unknown 9114 edge modified — — — 9120 flake — — — 9132 edge modified — — — 9136 edge modified scrape hard (2) bone/antler (1) 9215 fin. point project soft (3) plants (3) 9259 beveled tool scrape soft (2) unknown 9288 edge modified — — — 9304 beveled tool scrape soft (2) hide (1) 9305 edge modified cut hard (2) unknown 9318 edge modified scrape soft (3) gritty hide (2) 9346 flake cut unknown unknown 9352 edge modified scrape soft (2) hide (1) 9385 edge modified cut hard (2) bone/antler (1) Occupation 8022 flake cut hard (3) wood (2) Level 2 9003 beveled tool — — — 9096 edge modified — — — 9147 biface — — — Unknown 9307 edge modified cut soft (2) hide (1) 9514 edge modified cut soft (3) gritty hide (2)

Comments

unknown

bifacial haft wear

two serrated edges used scavenged

two used edges

scavenged scavenged

Note: Entries with multiple catalog numbers refer to refitted tools. Numbers in parentheses refer to level of confidence in inference (1 = low, 2 = moderate, 3 = high).

bit so extensively that it most likely would have been recognized if it were present. Natural agencies (e.g., patination) can also round the artifact edge, but this affects all edges; in contrast, rounding on the beveled tools is confined to their bits. Despite this, though, one aspect of this analysis fairly clearly documents the effect of the postdepositional chemical processes discussed above. Five pieces, all of them beveled tools, show pronounced (in some cases, macroscopically visible) edge rounding on their bits but show no traces of surface modification (polish) under the microscope. In these five cases, we have listed the use in Table 10.12 as scraping soft material, with moderate levels of confidence, and have listed “hide” as the contact material, with a low level of confidence. The

presence of edge rounding that must be the result of use with no associated microwear polish is particularly clear evidence for the kind of weathering process suggested above and confirms that the frequencies of used pieces and relative frequencies of different uses identified cannot be taken as exact estimates of the relative frequencies of tasks carried out at the site. The collection as a whole shows a fairly wide range of tool uses, including cutting and scraping hard material (including wood and bone or antler), hide working, cutting plants, and butchery. The low frequency of butchery tools (n = 1) contrasts rather strongly with the volume of animal bone from the site. Though this may reflect use of unmodified flakes (underrepresented in our sample) for this task, it almost certainly also reflects

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 173

the effects of chemical weathering. Dichotomizing the tools into those used on hard or soft materials suggests a shift toward more of the latter in the upper levels of the site. However, this may be an artifact of postdepositional processes rather than of changing patterns of tool use: traces of use on softer materials are often less resistant to chemical erosion than other traces, and the material from the lower levels of the site has been exposed to chemical processes longer than the material from the upper levels. Despite these problems, though, several specific aspects of these results merit more detailed discussion. First, the most striking result is the identification of unambiguous (in fact, macroscopic) plant polish on the blade of one of the projectile points (9215-48). Numerous striae parallel to the long axis of the point indicate that this piece was plunged over and over into silica-rich plant material, most likely grasses (cf. Keeley 1980:60–61; Vaughan 1985:35–37; Witthoft 1967). The clear association of these traces with only the blade of the point, and their total absence in the haft area, indicates unambiguously that they are not the result of postdepositional processes, and they are identical with experimental and archaeological traces known to result from use on plants. This artifact could have been used as a spear tip that was frequently thrown into grasses, possibly into a grass animal effigy for target practice. It is also tempting to suggest that the spear to which this point was once attached was used as a digging stick, perhaps to break through the thick prairie grasses to gather tubers. However, the striation pattern on the blade (exclusively parallel to the long axis of the tool) is inconsistent with this: plunging a point like this straight in and straight out of the ground would produce a hole too small to be useful, and enlarging this hole would require lateral movements of the tool that would be reflected in the striation pattern and that would also be very likely to break the point. Interestingly, CIEP analysis identified blood residue on this artifact that reacted with elk antiserum (see below). Second, as noted earlier, many of the beveled bifaces showed traces on flake ridges away from their working edges that are consistent with the effects of small movements within a haft during use. Hafting wear is

identified as microwear that cannot be explained by use resulting from edge usage and functionally makes little sense (Cahen et al. 1979:681). Interestingly, there appears to be some variation in the hafting techniques suggested by these traces. Most of the hafting wear polishes were identified as dry hide, along with traces of abrasion, with both of these sometimes visible on both faces of the tool. The traces of wear do not indicate that these artifacts were used to grind or rub hide, as the polish is found only on the proximal end of the artifacts and on the highest flake scar ridges. A possible explanation for this pattern is that pieces of dry hide were placed between the tool and the haft in order to help immobilize the blade in its handle, with the blade and hide insert then lashed to the handle, as was sometimes done in recent hide scrapers on the Plains (Metcalf 1970; Wedel 1970a). However, one beveled biface has traces of bone/antler polish on both aspects, again with evidence of abrasion, suggesting hafting without dry hide. One biface also has traces of dry hide hafting wear on one surface. This artifact may have also been hafted by a lashing technique, with a piece of hide perhaps inserted along the face to reduce movement within the haft. The beveled bifaces, then, are the only class of tool for which we can offer a clear and reasonably specific interpretation: these artifacts appear to have been tools that were hafted, apparently in a variety of ways, and used to process (scrape) hides. Although the low frequency of well-preserved traces on other classes of tools limits the inferences that we can draw from any of the use-wear data, the relatively large number of beveled tools suggests, at least, that hide processing was a common activity at the Allen site, and the range of other tasks identified here (including butchery and fairly frequent cutting and scraping of hard materials, including both bone/antler and wood) is consistent with a fairly generalized residential occupation. Blood Residue Analysis Newman outlines her results as follows: The positive results obtained by CIEP analysis of artifacts from the Allen Site are shown in

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Table [10.13]. Duplicate testing was carried out on all positive results. Two artifacts tested positive to elk antiserum and negative to deer and antelope. As previously discussed, the elk anti-serum is species-specific, and this result indicates the presence of elk blood proteins on these artifacts. One artifact gave a positive reaction to deer anti-serum only. As no positive results were obtained from elk or antelope anti-sera, this suggests the presence of Deer sp. proteins on this artifact. Two artifacts tested positive to human anti-serum. Animal proteins were also detected on each artifact, bison on one and bear on the other. Anti-human serum reacts only with humans and apes. Similarly, positive reactions to bear anti-serum are found only with members of the Ursidae family. The bison serum was raised against Bison bison bison, and is species-specific in that positive results will occur only with extinct and extant forms of bison. The most likely explanation for the identification of human proteins is that they are the result of accidental cuts during tool manufacture and/or re-sharpening or tool use. It is also possible that perspiration or other traces of recent handling may be responsible. However, if this were the case, more positive results would be expected. The absence of identifiable residues on the other artifacts tested may be due to the fact that: 1) artifacts were used on animals or plants other than those tested for, 2) the artifacts were not utilized, or 3) that protein denaturation was too severe to permit identification. [personal communication, 1990] There has been a lively debate over the effectiveness of blood residue analysis in archaeology (Downs and Lowenstein 1995; Kooyman et al. 1992; Mauldin et al. 1995; Shanks et al. 1999; Smith and Wilson 1992), and we recognize that data derived from this kind of analysis are inevitably open to discussion. However, we also note that none of the identifications on the Allen

Table 10.13: Results of Crossover Immunoelectrophoresis Analysis Artifact #

Artifact Type

Result



point preform point point point point point point preform Stage 4 biface Stage 3 biface Stage 4 biface Stage 4 biface Stage 4 biface

none none bison, human bear, human elk elk none none none deer none none

9011 9014 9016 9101 9215 9234 9258 9338 9502 9504 9586 9615

site artifacts is surprising in light of the faunal assemblages from the Medicine Creek sites in general (M. E. Hill, personal communication, 2006; Jones 1999; see also chapter 12) and that the rate of pieces producing results is fully comparable to the rates obtained from other collections analyzed using CIEP (Kooyman et al. 1992). At minimum, these data indicate that projectiles were used in hunting (including artifact 9215-48, whose blade bears extensive traces of plant polish [see above]) and that bifaces were used in butchery. If these inferences are not surprising, it is still good to know that they are supported empirically. Debitage Analysis There are two fundamental approaches to debitage analysis in American archaeology. Traditionally, analysts have identified flakes resulting from fairly specific kinds of reduction (for example, “biface thinning flakes” or “core rejuvenation flakes”) and discussed the relative proportions of these in debitage collections. However, more recent studies have increasingly recognized that technological identifications at the level of the individual item can be problematic, and analysts have therefore developed a variety of approaches to assemblage-level analysis and interpretation (i.e., Ahler 1989; Bamforth 1991c; Stahle and Dunn 1982;

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 175

Sullivan and Rosen 1985). We follow this second approach for our discussion of the overall collection of debitage but reiterate that it must be applied here cautiously because of the almost certain underrepresentation of small flakes in the assemblage. However, a number of the flakes made of exotic materials (see below) are technologically quite distinctive, and information on the kind of tools from which they were removed is important. There are at least two ways to reduce, if not to eliminate, the problems caused by the absence of small flakes in the Allen site collection: we can search for comparisons with assemblages with similar problems, or we can eliminate the data on small flakes from sites that lack these problems. Fortunately, both of these approaches can be taken here. Bamforth et al. (1986; also see Bamforth 1990) have reported on debitage from a series of quarry sites in the Mojave Desert, drawing their data from intensive surface collections. Because no screening was carried out during these collections but all visible artifacts were collected, these data should be comparable to those from the Allen site. Furthermore, there was no evidence for activities other than quarrying on these sites, implying that the collection provides a clear example of the earliest stages of stone tool production. Second, data obtained from collections that were recovered using fine screening can be made more comparable to the Allen site data by eliminating measurements made on very small flakes. We take this approach to comparative data from the largest of a series of small campsites in coastal California (5-SBa-689; Bamforth 1991c), by eliminating all measurements on flakes smaller than 12.0 mm (0.5 in). Refitting and other studies indicate that the Mojave Desert data primarily represent flake and core production using a variety of reduction strategies; the coastal California data pertain primarily to mid- to late-stage biface reduction. Table 10.14 presents comparative data on the Allen site debitage and these other two examples. Although there are some exceptions, on most measures the Allen site values fall between those for the two California cases. Platform angles at the Allen site are very similar to those from the Mojave quarries (and are also similar

Table 10.14: Comparison of Allen Site Debitage with Quarry (Early-Stage Core Reduction) and Campsite (Late-Stage Biface Reduction) Debitage Variable

Collection

Allen Site Mojave Quarries

Santa Ynez Valley (Campsite)

Platform Angle (degrees) Mean 87.0 86.8 54.3 SD 77.5 N 1,649 Platform Thickness (mm) Mean 3.7 no data 2.0 SD 3.3 N 847 Length (mm) Mean 24.1 45.6 17.8 SD 12.0 N 1,245 Width (mm) Mean 21.8 39.5 18.1 SD 12.0 N 1,691 Thickness (mm) Mean 5.3 13.4 3.6 SD 5.3 N 1,999 No. Dorsal Scars Mean 1.8 2.9 3.0 SD 1.7 N 1,774 Scar/Width Mean 0.12 0.06 0.17 SD 0.12 N 1,017 Platform Cortex (n) 389 (20.4%) 897 (37.3%) 27 (4.4%) Yes No 1,521 (79.6%) 1,475 (62.7%) 581 (95.6%) Indeterminate 1,759 Dorsal Cortex (n) 1,435 (38.6%) 1,139 (30.4%) 98 (11.2%) Yes No 2,285 (61.4%) 2,612 (69.6%) 778 (88.8%) Indeterminate 48 Heat Discoloration (n) 669 (26.6%) no data no data Yes 1,847 (73.4%) No Indeterminate 1,254 Heat Damage (n) 292 (11.6%) no data no data Yes 2,221 (88.4%) No Indeterminate 1,257 Note: Percentages exclude “indeterminate.”

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to the angles for the small sample of core-struck flakes from the Santa Ynez Valley; Bamforth 1991c:225). In contrast, flake sizes at the Allen site are most similar to the Santa Ynez Valley data. Given the refit data indicating that the collection represents a mix of core and biface reduction, with substantially more of the former than is indicated by the small number of cores in the collections, this general result is expected. Conversely, this result also suggests that the fairly high frequency of core reduction in the relatively small number of refits accurately reflects the overall pattern in the collection as a whole. Flaked Stone Raw Materials The dominant pattern of raw material use for flakedstone tool production at the Allen site is simple: more than 99 percent of the assemblage is made from Smoky Hill jasper (also referred to as Republican River jasper, Graham jasper, and Niobrara jasper [Hofman et al. 1991; Holen 1991; Stanford 1978; Wedel 1986]). This material is a silicified chalk formed at the top of the Smoky Hill chalk member of the Niobrara Formation and outcrops abundantly in the lower reaches of Medicine Creek itself; it is also found in other areas of the Republican River drainage in southwestern Nebraska and northwestern Kansas (Stein 2005). This material has also been found on and adjacent to the western edge of the Niobrara Formation in northeastern Nebraska, although known outcrops appear to produce lower quality stone than those at Medicine Creek (S. Holen, personal communication, 2006). Smoky Hill jasper occurs in a wide range of colors (predominantly browns and yellows but also white, black, and green; it turns dull to bright red, and sometimes black, when exposed to heat). It also varies widely in texture, from extremely fine-grained and almost translucent to barely silicified. Although it can be excellent material from a knapper’s perspective, stone gathered from outcrops visible in modern times very often has serious material irregularities, inclusions, or cracks, making even fine-grained pieces intractable in many cases. It is not clear whether or not there is geographic variation within this material that might make it possible to distinguish specific source areas, although Holen

(personal communication, 1988) suggests that at least one of the Allen site points (1311-47) is made from a variety of very fine-grained Smoky Hill jasper that, in his experience, does not outcrop at Medicine Creek. However, inferences like this must be made with some caution, as the extensive Late Holocene sedimentation in the drainage (see Brice 1966; see also chapter 3) has undoubtedly obscured bedrock outcrops that were available during Paleoindian times. Although it seems a priori almost certain that virtually all of the extensive production debris represents locally available material, it is difficult to judge whether or not the components of the collection that are more likely to have been transported (particularly projectile points but also other items; see below) are made from stone gathered at Medicine Creek or not. Table 10.15 summarizes sources, artifact types, and stratigraphic provenience for the tiny fraction of the collection that is made from sources of stone other than Smoky Hill jasper. The number of actual tools represented by the data in this table is probably considerably less than the total number of artifacts listed in it, because the flakes within the raw material categories under catalog numbers 1220 and 1310 are so similar in material and technology that they almost certainly came from the same tool. Furthermore, 1220d and 1310d are identical in material and technology and are also probably from a single tool; the same is true for the flakes in 1220e and 1310c. It is unfortunate that so much of this material derives from the uncontrolled 1947 excavations, as the sample of well-provenienced material is too small for detailed analysis. Furthermore, and regardless of sample sizes, the implications of the data in Table 10.15 are somewhat ambiguous. S. Holen (personal communication, 1988) points out that virtually all of the nonjasper cryptocrystalline materials in the collection can be found in secondary gravel deposits in the Platte River, despite the fact that the bedrock outcrops of these sources (including the White River silicates and Madison Formation/Hartville chert) are to the west in Colorado and Wyoming (Francis 1991). The great majority of these flakes appear to have been removed from late-stage bifaces, which suggests

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 177

Table 10.15: Flaked-Stone Artifacts Made from Material other than Smoky Hill Jasper in the Allen Site Collection Catalog No.

1220a-47 1220b-47 1220c-47 1220d-47 1220e-47 1310a-47 1310b-47 1310c-47 1310d-47 9016-48 9274-48 9463-48 66-49 9055-48 9335-48 9389-48 9519-48 9059-48 9172 9234 9996

Stratum

Material

Unknown White River chalcedony/cobble? Unknown Mississippian chert/Wyoming/cobble? Unknown Unknown/cobble? Unknown Mississippian chert/Wyoming/cobble? Unknown Madison chert/Wyoming/cobble? Unknown Chalcedony/cobble Unknown Unknown Unknown Same as 1220e Unknown Same as 1220d Occupation Level (OL) 1 Surface Alibates agate OL 1 Surface Unknown/cobble OL 1 Silicified wood/cobble* OL 1 Upper Same as 9463-48* Intermediate Zone (IZ) Chert/cobble IZ Unknown IZ Chalcedony/cobble IZ White River chalcedony OL 2 Upper Permian (Flint Hills) chert OL 2 Surface White River chalcedony(?)/cobble OL 1 Unknown Unknown Unknown

Description

2 late-stage biface flakes 9 late-stage biface flakes 6 small flakes 19 late-stage biface flakes 22 late-stage biface flakes 1 mid-stage biface flake Possible flake 5 late-stage biface flakes 5 late-stage biface flakes Projectile point 1 medium/late biface flake 1 late biface flake 1 flake 1 pressure flake 1 medium/late biface flake 2 mid-stage biface flakes 1 large flake 1 potlid, possibly off a biface 1 flake Agate Basin point Obliquely flaked point

* Cobble cortex.

that the tools these flakes were struck from were made from relatively large pieces of raw material. This could indicate that a bedrock source is more likely and that these pieces indicate some form of long-distance contacts or travel: much of the flakeable stone available in the Platte gravels occurs as fairly small and often fractured pieces that are unsuitable for biface production. However, two of the nonlocal cryptocrystalline flakes (66-49, from OL 1 Upper, and 9463-48, from OL 1) bear traces of cobble cortex on their dorsal surfaces. Although only one of these flakes is clearly the product of bifacial reduction, it does indicate that at least some cobble sources were used by the occupants of the site to make bifaces, implying that we cannot rule out the Platte gravels as a source of at least some of this stone.

Only two artifacts total provide more certain evidence of some form of access to fairly distant raw material sources: one flake (9059-48 from OL 2 Upper) of gray Permian (sometimes called “Flint Hills”) chert, from a source in southeastern Nebraska and eastern Kansas (S. Holen, personal communication, 1988), and a projectile point (9016-48 from OL 1 Surface) made from Alibates agate from the northern Texas Panhandle; neither of these sources of stone is available in any local river gravels. Although it is relatively common to find small amounts of Alibates agate in Paleoindian (and other) sites on the West-Central and Northwestern Plains (see, for example, Frison and Todd 1987; MacDonald 1999; Wheat 1972), Western Plains archaeologists have generally not identified Eastern

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Plains stone in their sites (but see Myers 1989), possibly because of a lack of familiarity with these materials. Two other points are made from nonlocal stone, but the source of this stone is not clear. Transported or Made and Used On-Site? There is no doubt that many flaked-stone tools moved with their makers from site to site over the course of their useful lives, and identifying the transported part of any lithic assemblage is thus important. The presence of nonlocal raw material in an assemblage generally helps substantially with such identifications, but, as just discussed, stone that cannot be matched with locally available material is almost nonexistent at the Allen site. Nevertheless, it is possible to reconstruct much of the transported material in the site with some confidence. Refitting makes it clear that, at minimum, both cores and bifaces were carried away from the Allen site, and core transport into the site is also suggested by the fact that, as noted above, the cores recovered on the site fall clearly into two classes by size. Although the larger cores are likely to have been used and discarded onsite, the smaller, apparently exhausted cores were probably brought to the site from elsewhere. In addition, discarded hafted tools (including projectile points, finished bifaces, and beveled tools) probably represent the discarded blades of implements that were carried into the site and retooled there; this is certain in the case of the projectile points made of nonlocal stone. Although exotic raw material is extremely rare in the debitage, all but one of the nonjasper flakes appear to have been removed in the late stages of biface reduction, implying that at least a few bifaces or projectile point preforms made from nonlocal stone also passed through the site. Finally, at least a few of the scaled pieces may represent transported pieces that were splintered by bipolar reduction to produce useful flakes, although, as noted earlier, this interpretation does not fit very well with all of these pieces. It is worth noting that the artifacts in most of these categories are made from Smoky Hill jasper and therefore were likely not carried a very great distance into the site. This is also true for some of the nonjasper

pieces: gravels that may have produced some of the imported stone can be found in the Platte River Valley to the north. The total number of bifaces made of stone other than jasper that is indicated by the debitage is very small, no more than two or three. Although it is not clear how many jasper bifaces were carried off-site, the volume of discarded production failures suggests very strongly that bifaces of exotic stone were a tiny proportion of the total number of bifaces that must once have been present at the site. The total absence of discarded bifaces of nonlocal stone, despite the fact that many bifacial knives must have been retooled at the Allen site, implies a similar conclusion. Only the projectile points show a significant proportion of nonlocal stone, and, even in this case, the number of artifacts involved is very small (three of nine). Temporal Patterns in the Lithic Assemblage Table 10.1 presents the frequencies of the various tool types and total debitage counts for each of the nine potential analytic units that can be defined at the site (see chapter 8) and material identified in the catalog only as deriving from Occupation Levels 1 and 2, as those levels were initially defined by Holder. For the worked material, many of these units clearly produced far too few artifacts to support any analysis, and the remainder of this section divides this portion of the collection into Holder and Wike’s (1949) original three strata: OL 1 (including the material below and on the lower soil and the material cataloged as from OL 1), the Intermediate Zone, and OL 2 (including the material above and on the upper soil and the material cataloged as being from OL 2). Table 10.16 presents these totals and also notes the frequencies of refitted core or biface sequences for these three levels. The samples of debitage are large enough for more fine-grained analysis and are considered in terms of the nine finer units below. Worked Stone Taking account of the varying numbers of artifacts from the three levels defined at the Allen site, and particularly of the small sample of tools from OL 2, Table

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 179

Table 10.16: Frequencies of Flaked-Stone Artifacts by Major Archaeological Level at the Allen Site (Artifacts with Unknown Provenience Excluded) Artifact

Artifact Type

Stratum

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

Bifaces Stage 1 2 1 Stage 2 19 20 Stage 3 18 18 Stage 4 6 1 Point preform 7 3 Point 4 1 Beveled tool 13 5 Core 8 10 Edge-modified flake 50 18 Perforator 2 1 Scaled piece 6 2 Other tool 7 2 Chunk/indeterminate 5 2 Unmodified flake 4,509 3,199

Table 10.17: Measures of General Composition of the Lithic Assemblage in the Major Archaeological Levels at the Allen Site, Based on Counts in Table 10.16

0 8 3 1 6 1 1 1 9 1 1 0 0 3,360

10.1 shows no evidence of any significant typological shifts in assemblage composition over time. That is, the same range of material appears to have been discarded at the site in all three levels. However, it is possible to examine more general measures of assemblage composition at a coarser timescale to search for longer-term patterns of change. Table 10.17 presents a number of measures derived from the totals in Table 10.16. These include one very general measure (the ratio of debitage to flaked-stone tools) and three more detailed measures of the overall content of the assemblage (ratios of cores to bifaces, of early-stage bifaces [Stages 1 and 2] to later-stage bifaces [Stages 3 and 4], of unfinished bifaces [Stages 1 through 3] to finished bifaces [Stage 4], and of projectile point preforms to finished points). We can also draw a basic distinction between “production debris,” artifacts that are likely to have been discarded as a result of tool production and repair but that may not



Point preform/ finished point

Stratum

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

1.75

3.00

6.00

Stage 1 and 2 bifaces/ 1.14 Stage 3 and 4 bifaces

1.11

2.00

Unfinished biface/ finished biface

6.50

39.00

11.00

Core/biface ratio Production debris/ on-site tools

0.18 0.98

0.25 2.25

0.08 1.82

Flakes/retouched piece 31.75

39.01

105.00

have been actually used on-site, and “on-site tools,” artifacts likely to have been used for tasks carried out at the sites where they were recovered. For present purposes, production debris at the Allen site includes finished and unfinished bifaces and projectile points, chunks, and cores; on-site tools include beveled tools, edge-modified flakes, wedges, and perforators. The “other/indeterminate” category (a total of eight tools) is not included here because most of the implements in it cannot be clearly identified to type. Finished points and bifaces are considered as production debris here because they are likely to have been discarded on-site not because they were actually used on-site (a particularly obvious observation in the case of projectile points) but because the tools of which they were part were repaired on-site (Bamforth 1986; Keeley 1982). A number of these more general measures do change over time, in two ways. First, the ratios of production debris to on-site tools and of unfinished to finished bifaces are notably higher in the two upper levels than in OL 1. Second, the other measures (early/ late-stage bifaces, point preforms/points, debitage/ retouched piece, and core/biface ratios) are relatively constant in OL 1 and the Intermediate Zone and change

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most notably above that level. In these latter cases, the first three measures go up over time, whereas core/ biface ratios are lower in OL 2 than in the lower levels, although these last ratios do not show a continuous pattern of temporal change. Debitage As noted earlier, the collection of debitage is large enough for analysis in terms of more detailed stratigraphic units. Unfortunately, the uppermost and lowermost of the nine units defined in chapter 8 (below OL 1 and above OL 2) produced very small collections, and these collections are lumped with the material from OL 1 Lower and OL 2 Upper, respectively. Figures 10.17 through 10.25 and Table 10.18 present (1) raw median values for nine variables measured on the Allen site debitage by stratum and (2) these values smoothed using five-point running medians. Several temporal trends are evident in these data. First, the smoothed values for maximum length and maximum width fairly clearly show a trend toward slightly, but not dramatically, smaller flakes. Dorsal cortex frequencies fluctuate from level to level but show no obvious temporal trends, but there is a very clear tendency toward higher frequencies of cortex on striking platforms over time (from about 10 percent of intact platforms in OL 1 Lower to about 20 percent in OL 2 Upper). Dorsal platform angles fluctuate over time but generally tend to be higher in the lower levels than in the upper levels, and platform thickness roughly parallels this through most of the levels, with the clear exception of an increase in the uppermost levels. The “density” of flake scars, measured as the number of major removals on the dorsal surface divided by maximum width, tends to decrease overall over time. Finally, there are quite dramatic increases in the proportions of burned pieces in the collection over time, with burning measured as the frequency of both fire-reddened (“heat-modified”) flakes and heatdamaged (crazed or potlidded) flakes. Overall Temporal Patterns in the Flaked Stone The temporal trends in the worked stone and the debitage suggest basically similar patterns of change. The

Figure 10.17 Raw and smoothed values for median flake length by stratum.

Figure 10.18 Raw and smoothed values for median flake width by stratum.

Figure 10.19 Raw and smoothed values for median platform thickness by stratum.

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Figure 10.20

Figure 10.23

Raw and smoothed values for median platform angle by stratum.

Raw and smoothed values for flake density (number of dorsal flake scars/flake width) by stratum.

Figure 10.21

Figure 10.24

Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes with cortical platforms by stratum.

Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes showing heat modification by stratum.

Figure 10.22

Figure 10.25

Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes with dorsal cortex by stratum.

Raw and smoothed values for percent of flakes showing heat damage by stratum.

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Table 10.18: Raw and Smoothed Values for Flake Measurements by Stratum Variable

Length (mm) Raw Smoothed Width (mm) Raw Smoothed Platform Thickness (mm) Raw Smoothed Platform Angle (degrees) Raw Smoothed Platform Cortex (%) Raw Smoothed Dorsal Cortex (%) Raw Smoothed Dorsal Scars/Width Raw Smoothed Heat Modified (%) Raw Smoothed Heat Damaged (%) Raw Smoothed

Stratum

Occupation Level 1 Intermediate Zone Occupation Level 2 Lower Surface Upper Lower Surface Upper

22.7 22.7

20.7 20.7

18.4 20.7

18.8 18.8

20.7 18.4

16.3 16.3

18.2 18.2

21.5 21.5

19.5 19.5

16.5 18.0

18.0 18.0

18.7 18.0

15.3 18.3

18.3 18.3

3.4 3.4

2.8 2.8

2.0 2.8

2.8 2.8

3.3 2.8

2.1 2.1

3.4 3.4

84.0 84.0

90.0 87.0

88.5 90.7

92.8 86.7

80.7 86.7

87.1 82.2

77.3 77.3

10.3 10.3

9.5 9.5

5.5 9.5

10.0 9.5

9.0 10.0

12.8 12.8

19.8 19.8

36.8 36.8

45.3 45.3

33.3 36.8

38.1 38.1

32.8 38.1

42.5 42.5

40.0 40.0

0.08 0.08

0.09 0.09

0.15 0.09

0.09 0.09

0.09 0.09

0.04 0.04

0.05 0.05

14.9 14.9

24.5 24.5

12.5 20.6

27.0 24.5

20.6 27.0

47.5 47.5

43.3 43.3

8.4 8.4

9.8 9.8

8.3 8.4

11.1 9.8

7.5 11.1

20.3 20.3

20.9 20.9

Note: Data from stratum “below Occupation Level 1” are too few for analysis.

trends in the assemblage of retouched pieces suggest that stone tool production, and particularly the earlier stages of tool production, became a proportionately more important component of the activities carried out at the Allen site over time. Furthermore, the increase in the volume of debitage relative to the number of retouched pieces and in early-stage bifaces and projectile point preforms suggests that the production of numbers of tools in excess of those discarded on-site was increasingly important relative to other activities. Cores appear to have been discarded less often relative to bifaces in the uppermost levels of the site than in the lower levels, but this may or may not imply that they were less common in the overall technology, as

we (2000) discuss in detail elsewhere. Certainly, the relative frequencies of cores and bifaces in the refitted sequences do not show any clear changes over time, although the number of sequences refitted for Occupation Level 2 is very small (Bamforth and Becker 2000). Given this, the lower core/biface ratio in OL 2 more likely represents less frequent discard of cores than any change in the overall technology. The debitage patterns fit fairly well with this and may also add some detail to it. The reduction in average numbers of dorsal scars and in the “density” of dorsal scars and the increase in the frequency of cortical striking platforms all suggest a shift toward earlier stages of tool manufacture and a reduced emphasis on later

The Allen Site Lithic Assemblage / 183

stages, although the absence of a trend in the frequency of flakes with dorsal cortex is surprising in the face of these patterns. It may be that most cortex was removed at locations closer to rock outcrops, before raw material was brought to the Allen site. A reduction in the extent of core reduction and a parallel increase in the emphasis on biface production are also suggested by the slight reduction in flake size and particularly by the progressive reduction in platform angles. The presence of cores in the assemblage throughout the sequence,

though, and the absence of any temporal trends in the core/biface ratios among refitted sequences suggest that this last shift does not represent changes in the relative importance of cores and bifaces in the technology represented at the Allen site. Rather, the simplest interpretation of all of the data taken together is that this technology changed little, if at all, but that cores tended to be less extensively flaked, and hence less frequently discarded, on-site over time.

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Other Archaeological Evidence Douglas B. Bamforth In addition to the large assemblages of flaked stone and animal bone recovered from the Allen site and discussed, respectively, in chapters 10 and 12, the collection includes a variety of other objects, and the site’s excavators recorded fairly detailed information on the hearths they encountered. This chapter thus considers the evidence provided by six categories of remains: hammerstones, groundstone fragments, bone tools, mud dauber nests, human remains, and hearths. Hammerstones and Groundstone Artifacts The Allen site excavations produced a total of 13 hammerstones (one with unknown provenience) and 12 artifacts that were modified by grinding either during use or as part of their manufacture or are made from potentially abrasive varieties of stone (three with unknown provenience). Items were identified as hammerstones if they showed macroscopic battering concentrated on areas likely to have been useful in striking flakes or for other tasks (i.e., on corners or other projections). Because all stones in the assemblage must have been introduced to the site by human beings, the category of groundstone artifacts includes all items made from sandstone or other potentially abrasive materials, whether or not they show definite evidence of having been ground or of having been used to grind, with the exception of a sandstone cobble that appears to have been battered and therefore is included with the hammerstones. Table 11.1 summarizes the hammerstones, noting stratigraphic provenience, material type, size, completeness, and production modifications (if any). The

small sample of artifacts in this class is divided almost evenly between jasper hammers (six), which were often flaked into shape, and hammers of other materials (seven), mainly quartzite but also including granite and, possibly, sandstone (Figure 11.1 illustrates a selection of these). Not surprisingly, most of these (10 of 13) are complete. Most of these were probably used to produce flaked-stone tools (and possibly for other tasks as well). However, one sandstone item shows possible traces of battering, and it is unlikely that this material would have been useful in flaking stone; if this is indeed a hammerstone, it was probably used to batter some other material. Table 11.2 describes the groundstone items, noting stratigraphic provenience, material type, completeness, type, evidence of resharpening (pecking),

Figure 11.1 Hammerstones from the Allen site.

Other Archaeological Evidence / 185

Table 11.1: Hammerstones from the Allen Site Catalog No.

Stratum

Description

1217-47 9232-48 9474-48/9587-48 (refitted) 9483-48 9500-48 9516-48 9588-48 9139-48 9230-48 9246-48 9379-48 9472-48 9058-48

Unknown Below Occupation Level (OL) 1 OL 1 Surface OL 1 OL 1 Surface OL 1 Surface OL 1 Intermediate Zone (IZ) IZ IZ IZ IZ OL 2 Upper

Sandstone cobble, possibly battered Unknown cobble fragment, possibly battered Unknown cobble, complete Flaked jasper, complete Flaked jasper, complete Quartzite, complete Quartzite, complete Quartzite, complete Jasper, complete Jasper, complete Granite(?), complete Flaked jasper, complete Jasper, complete

Table 11.2: Groundstone from the Allen Site Catalog No.

Stratum

924-47 Unknown 1213-47 Unknown 1220-47 Unknown 1220-47 Unknown 9233-48 Occupation Level (OL) 1 Surface 9242-48 OL 1 Lower 9517-48 OL 1 Upper 9581-48 OL 1 Lower 9589-48 OL 1 9005-48 Intermediate Zone (IZ) 9339-48 IZ 9100-48 OL 2

and traces of use for purposes other than grinding. The collection includes two grooved stones (one with no provenience), four handstones/manos, three milling slab/metate fragments, two pieces of indeterminate grinding tools, and one piece of sandstone that is too friable to preserve traces of use but that is the right size and shape to serve as a handstone (see Figure 11.2). Handstone and milling slab fragments can be distinguished on the basis of cross section: the former show a convex outline, and the latter show

Description

Sandstone fragment with two grinding surfaces, one pecked Flake struck from groundstone surface, possibly to roughen working surface Small, grooved sandstone cobble Handstone fragment, grinding surface pecked Sandstone handstone fragment, grinding surface heavily pecked Large grooved sandstone cobble (“bola” stone) Sandstone milling stone fragment, grinding surface pecked, long and sharp grooves on surface (anvil for flint working?) Very friable sandstone fragment, no definite use traces Complete sandstone handstone, grinding surface pecked Sandstone milling stone fragment, grinding surface pecked Sandstone milling stone fragment, grinding surface pecked, reused as awl/needle abrader Sandstone handstone fragment, grinding surface pecked

a concave outline. Most of these are fragmentary, including (by definition) all of the fragments of unidentifiable type and all but one of the handstones and milling slabs. Both of the grooved stones are complete. Finding hammerstones associated with extensive evidence for stone tool production, whether or not some of these were also used to batter materials other than stone, is hardly surprising. However, although the sample of groundstone is too small to support

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Figure 11.2 Grinding stones from the Allen site: (a) handstone fragment, note the pecked/resharpened surface (spots on surface are remnants of glue used to fix this artifact to a display in the past); (b) handstone fragment, note pecked/resharpened surface; (c) metate fragment, note grooves from reuse as an abrader.

a

b

c

extensive analysis, the aggregate characteristics of the collection are interesting. First, it seems clear that grinding materials were rather carefully conserved. Only one of the grinding implements is complete, and the majority of them show fairly clear evidence of at least one, and possibly more than one, episode of resharpening. This evidence is generally in the form of depressions pecked in the grinding surface (Figure 11.2a–b), but, in one case, a percussion flake (1213-47, an item with no stratigraphic provenience) appears to have been driven from the edge of a grinding stone across its grinding surface, possibly as part of a resharpening effort. This conservation very likely derives from the fact that the stone from which almost all of the grinding implements are made is not available locally. Although we do not know the exact source(s) of this material, it is clear that the local Niobrara sandstone is softer and more friable than all but one of the artifacts. According to L. Conyers, the stone used for the Allen site groundstone resembles Cretaceaous-age sandstone or one of the other sandstone units in the Mesozoic sequence. It does not appear to have been derived from one of the Tertiary-age units which outcrop near the Allen site due to its high degree of diagenic cementation. The nearest outcrop of Cretaceous-age indurated sandstone to the east of the Allen site is located to the west of Lincoln. To the west, the nearest outcrop is located north of the Scottsbluff area in the Nebraska Panhandle. [personal communication, 1993] Both of these possible sources of stone are approximately 300–400 km from the Allen site.

Other Archaeological Evidence / 187

Resharpening by pecking may also help to account for the fact that the collection is dominated by fragments, as these artifacts may well have broken during this process. It is also possible that grinding stones or grinding stone fragments may sometimes have been used as anvils for the bipolar reduction of stone artifacts: one of them (9517-48 from Occupation Level [OL] 1) shows long, narrow scratches in its surface that may have been produced when a piece of flaked stone slipped as it was struck. However, these conceivably might also have been produced while pecking the surface to resharpen it. At least one of these artifacts (9339-48 from the Intermediate Zone) was clearly used for purposes other than grinding, as it shows seven long, rounded grooves at its edge (Figure 11.2c). Many of the needles and awls found at the site fit comfortably into these grooves, and it is very likely that this artifact was used to produce tools like these. However, it is not clear whether it was so used in its current, fragmentary form or not, as none of the grooves intersects a broken edge. The two most unusual items in the groundstone collection are the grooved stones (1227-47 [no provenience] and 9242-48 [OL 1]; Figure 11.3). Holder and Wike (1949:264) identified the larger of these as a possible bola stone and compared it with morphologically similar objects identified as bola stones or net sinkers from as far away as Tierra del Fuego. However, the second of these artifacts, found with the faunal collection, is too small and light to have served this purpose. Attributing specific uses to these items is frankly speculative: possibilities other than use in a bola include use as net weights, as buttons for a cloak (O. Bar-Yosef, personal communication, 1990), or as part of some kind of fastening device for a tent or other construction. The substantial differences in size and weight of these two items, in fact, suggest that they may have served very different purposes, and it is also possible that at least the smaller could have been a child’s toy or imitation of an adult’s tool. Bone Artifacts Although archaeologists commonly recover bone artifacts, systematic analysis of this class of material

Figure 11.3 Grooved (bola?) stone.

is a relatively underdeveloped area of research. The identification of obvious implements, such as needles and many awls, presents few problems, but Frison’s (1991b:302–307) observation that minimally modified bones and bone fragments can be used in many phases of butchery, and apparently were often used for this, implies that less obvious tools may have been important components of pre-metal tool kits. Furthermore, although few archaeologists have considered the range of uses to which bone tools might be put, experimental research by Griffitts (1993) indicates that bone tools are effective in a wide range of tasks, including whittling and chiseling wood; T. McCabe (personal communication, 1992) has noted that the modern Turkana of East Africa prefer bone to metal tools for woodworking. Many of the bones from the Allen site show scratches, cut marks, or other modifications that may be the result of either human or natural processes (or both). In a number of cases (for example, eyed needles), there is no question that these objects were intentionally manufactured by human beings, and we presume that they were also used. However, in other cases, the evidence for human modification of bones for use is less clear. Two problems particularly contribute to this. First, as is true for stone tools, a variety of

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nonhuman processes can modify bone in ways that can sometimes mimic the results of human action. Second, not all human uses of bone tools leave macroscopically discernable traces (Griffitts 1993). The identification of bone implements in a large faunal assemblage, then, is a difficult process, and reliance only on macroscopic observations may be misleading (cf. Young and Bamforth [1990] on used stone flakes). Given problems like these, the approach here is conservative. Identifications of possibly worked and use-modified bone were made by N. Hamblin during the initial processing of the faunal assemblage; she recorded both the nature of the traces she saw and her degree of confidence that these traces were produced by humans, with this latter assessment ranked into three levels: Level 1 (definite tool), Level 2 (probable tool), and Level 3 (possible tool). This work produced a total of 271 bones or bone fragments with possible use or production traces on them. J. Hudson later inspected the collection and suggested that some of the pieces included in the sample of potentially worked and used fragments were likely modified by natural forces, illustrating the identification problems just noted. Given these different interpretations, analysis of the bone “tool” data begins by excluding all of the pieces ranked as only “possible” tools (Level 3) and all Level 1 and 2 pieces with traces that likely resulted from natural processes (for example, all pieces with clear rodent or carnivore chewing, with definitely weathered surfaces, or with traces that do not suggest a clearly interpretable use [such as pieces whose only recorded trace of use is a sheen or polish on one or more surfaces rather than on an edge or a tip]). Recorded information on the remaining 159 items indicates that they can be subdivided into five major categories: needles and needle fragments (n = 5), possible bone beads (n = 2), end-modified pieces (pieces that bear traces of use or intentional modification, particularly rounding and polish, at one end; n = 105), bipoints (pieces with use or modification traces at both ends; n = 13), and edge-modified pieces (pieces that bear traces of use or modification, particularly rounding and edge damage, on an edge; n = 33). The

Table 11.3: Frequency of Bone Tools and Unmodified Bone for the Three Major Strata at the Allen Site Material

Measure



Stratum

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Unknown Level 1 Zone Level 2

Unmodified N bone %

1,503 64.8

509 21.9

309 13.3

1,237

Needles

N %

1 33.3

1 33.3

1 33.3

1

Beads

N %

1 100.0

0 0.0

0 0.0

1

End modified N %

32 49.2

26 40.0

7 10.8

40

N %

3 37.5

5 62.5

0 0.0

5

Edge modified N %

12 70.6

2 11.8

3 17.7

16

Antler N “burnisher” %

0 0.0

0 0.0

0 0.0

1

Bipoint

Note: Percentages provided for material with known stratigraphic provenience.

collection also includes a single artifact made from antler (discussed below). Of these five categories, the needles are unquestionably humanly made and, presumably, used. Many of the end-modified pieces are similarly clearly artifactual, although the data available for this analysis do not clearly distinguish these from less certain pieces, except at the general level of the initial analyst’s confidence in her interpretation. As a final control on the categories of material other than needles, Table 11.3 presents the frequency of each category by stratum relative to the total amount of bone from that stratum. Because the nonhuman processes that could have modified these items are likely to have operated primarily while they were exposed on the surface, categories that were particularly frequent on the buried soil surfaces are more likely to contain large numbers of naturally altered pieces than categories that do not show this pattern. As chapter 8 notes, the faunal material cannot be placed into finer stratigraphic units than the three

Other Archaeological Evidence / 189

initially defined by Holder and Wike (1949), and this limits the precision of any analysis of this problem. The volume of material in the site generally declines in the upper levels, as illustrated in Table 11.3 by the total amount of unmodified bone. Taking sample sizes into account, this is also the pattern shown in most of the classes of modified bone in Table 11.3. However, edge-modified pieces are preferentially associated with OL 1 and OL 2, the strata that contain buried soils: edge-modified pieces are nearly eight times more frequent in these strata than in the Intermediate Zone, in strong contrast to the unmodified bone, which is only about 3.5 times more frequent. Although the edges of fractured pieces of bone can serve as useful tools and such fragments were sometimes used as tools by Paleoindian people (i.e., Frison 1991a), carnivore and rodent gnawing can also modify the edges of broken bones. The overrepresentation of “edge-modified” pieces on buried soils at the Allen site thus implies that we cannot rule out the possibility that edge-modified pieces reflect extended postdepositional exposure to animals and the elements rather than human action, and this analysis therefore excludes these pieces. However, the other categories (a total of 126 objects) show very different stratigraphic distributions. The remainder of this discussion describes the four remaining categories of bone implements in more detail and the antler artifact; chapter 13 considers the implications of the notable differences in the frequencies of these tools in the three strata that are evident in Table 11.3. The five needles and needle fragments (Figure 11.4 illustrates four of these) appear to have been made on splinters of bone taken from unidentifiable skeletal elements that were ground and polished to their final shape; each has a biconical hole (eye) drilled at one end. One of these has a broken tip, two are complete, one has a portion of the eye broken away, and one (not illustrated) consists only of a midshaft fragment. The two complete specimens are narrow (0.5 and 0.3 cm) and fairly sharp, suggesting that they may have been used for piercing holes and drawing some kind of fiber through. The diameter of the specimen with the broken eye is similar (0.6 cm), although the intact end of this piece is too blunt to use as a piercing tool; it may have

Figure 11.4 Needles from the Allen site.

been used to draw fiber through a preexisting hole. It is possible, though, that this last piece broke while the eye was being drilled and that the blunt tip may represent incomplete manufacture, although rounding at this end seems more likely to be the result of use. The fourth piece is narrow (0.3 cm) and has an intact eye but no tip. Taken together, these tools suggest that at least two different modes or stages of production of sewn objects were carried out on-site. The largest class of bone implements in the collection is the one labeled “end modified.” Descriptions of the implements in this class make it possible to divide these into those with sharp tips (n = 65), those with blunt tips (n = 34), and those with broken tips or ambiguous descriptions (n = 6). Implements in these classes include a variety of awls (Figures 11.5–11.6), the largest of which was made on the ulna of a wolf or other canid (Figure 11.7). The distinction between sharp and blunt tips presumably represents a distinction between tools used for piercing and tools used for other purposes, with these other purposes possibly including digging. Whether this assumption is correct or not, the nature of many, if not most, of the tools in this category strongly suggests fairly generalized domestic activities. The bipointed pieces were made on splinters of bone and show rounding and polish at both ends (Figure 11.8 illustrates an example of these). This class of tools is functionally ambiguous. The majority of bipoints

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Figure 11.5

Figure 11.6

Large awls from the Allen site.

Smaller awls made on bone splinters.

Figure 11.7

Figure 11.8

Awl made from the metapodial of a wolf or other canid.

Bipointed mammal bone splinter.

(11 of 13) have at least one sharp point, and more than half (seven of 13) have two sharp points (four have one sharp and one dull point, and two have two dull points). Overall, then, they would have been effective piercers, but their small size (these pieces average roughly 4.0–5.0 cm in length) suggests that they would have been difficult to use without impaling the user’s hand on the point opposite the one in use. Similar implements were used in fishing tackle on the Plains and elsewhere, and Holder and Wike (1949:265) explicitly identify these as parts of

compound fishhooks. The paucity of fish remains (a total of four vertebrae) in the faunal assemblage is difficult to reconcile with the number of these in the assemblage, but the lack of screening during excavation may underrepresent the actual amount of fish bone that was once present. The final category of bone artifact, possible bone beads (n = 2), and a single antler “burnishing” tool (Figure 11.9) are represented by so few examples that there is little that can be said about them beyond noting their presence. Both of the possible beads appear

Other Archaeological Evidence / 191

Figure 11.9 Deer antler burnishing (?) tool.

to represent manufacturing rejects: both bear remnant marks of sawing across the shaft at both ends but show no evidence of final polishing or other finishing. The burnishing tool is the articular end of a shed antler with the burr intact and a clear bevel at the opposite end produced when this fragment was sawn off. Similar pieces certainly serve as excellent soft hammers for flaking stone, but this implement shows no battering and is too short (total length is 7.6 cm) to use effectively as a hammer. Rather, the base and a portion of one side of this tool are rounded and worn smooth, suggesting use rubbing a fairly soft material. Mud Dauber Nests and Architecture? Several authors (Rogers 1979; Wedel 1986) have remarked on the recovery of burned mud dauber nests from the Allen site and have considered these in two contexts. First, the fact that many and perhaps all of these were burned suggests that they could have been intentionally heated in order to cook any larvae that might have been inside. Unfortunately, examination of the small sample of nests that have been retained in the collection found no evidence of insects in any stage of development. The food potential of these nests thus cannot be assessed, but the total absence of insects or insect parts in the surviving nests suggests it is likely to have been low. Second, Rogers (1979) has pointed

out that mud dauber nests in more recent contexts on the Plains are typically associated with houses and suggests that the presence of such nests at the Allen site implies that structures might have been built there as well. The total absence of postholes in the excavated area is inconsistent with this, but it is conceivable that standing structures might have been built without discernible subsurface posts. Traces on the exterior of the nests may provide some relevant information in this context. Many of the nests preserve the impressions of the surface on which they were built, and, in all cases, the appearance of this surface seems to show the negative impression of tree bark, with no indication at all of any form of human modification. Any structures that might have been present on the site, then, must have been constructed using wood that retained its bark. However, it is worth noting that mud daubers must surely have built their nests in trees and other locations before humans provided other kinds of suitable surfaces for them. The likelihood that natural fires were common in the drainage and that such fires probably account for most, and perhaps all, of the charcoal recovered from the Allen site implies that naturally fallen limbs bearing mud dauber nests could easily have burned with no input from humans at all. The available material thus shows no definite signs of human activity, and the most economical explanation for the presence of mud dauber nests at the site may be that they represent the results of natural processes, although this is not absolutely certain. Human Remains Analysis of the bone from the Allen site identified one human carpal (8171-48, OL 1) and one human phalanx (8603-48, OL 2). An early inventory of the bone also noted a single deciduous human tooth from OL 1, although more detailed information on this was apparently not recorded. The presence of this tooth suggests strongly that a child was present at the site at least once, although it is at least conceivable that it was transported and then lost or discarded. The two other bones might also have been transported and lost, but they may also suggest that there

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Table 11.4: Summary Data on Hearths from the Allen Site

Feature #

Stratum

Degree of Burning

Maximum Dimension (ft)



5 6 8 9 10 11 17 19 20 22 23 24 26 27 29 30 31 32 33 34

Intermediate Zone (IZ) Occupation Level (OL) 1 Lower OL 2 Surface IZ Below OL 1 OL 2 Lower OL 2 Lower IZ OL 2 Lower OL 2 Lower Below OL 1 OL 2 Surface OL 1 Lower OL 2 Lower OL 1 Surface OL 1 Surface OL 1 Surface OL 1 Surface IZ OL 1 Lower

light medium heavy heavy heavy heavy light light medium medium heavy light heavy heavy light heavy heavy heavy light heavy

3.0 2.3 3.5 unknown 2.3 2.1 2.3 1.5 2.3 unknown 2.0 1.5 2.5 2.1 1.0 2.0 2.0 1.7 1.7 2.0

were once mortuary features in the vicinity of the excavation. The occurrence of these bones in isolation from other remains implies that these may have been above-surface features, perhaps similar to scaffolds used in some areas of North America more recently. The deterioration of such features over time could conceivably have resulted in the loss of small bones even if the majority of the skeleton was collected for secondary burial, and such lost bones could easily have been swept up and discarded with other debris. This sample of remains is clearly too small to support any kind of meaningful analysis. However, the likely presence of a child at the site is certainly consistent with the inference that the Allen site was a fairly generalized residential base (see chapter 13). The possibility that there were once mortuary features in the vicinity of the excavation area may also be consistent with the argument in chapter 9 that

this area was on the periphery of the principal residential portion of the site, and the presence of such evidence in both OL 1 and OL 2 adds additional evidence to the overall picture of a persistent pattern of human occupation of the site area throughout the Paleoindian period. Hearths Table 11.4 summarizes basic descriptive data on the hearths. All of the Allen site hearths were unprepared and burned directly on the ground surface: none was fired in a pit, and no stones were found in or around any of them. The 1948 fieldworkers plotted the hearths within the site, measured their size, and recorded an interpretation of how heavily each hearth was burned (with assessments of burning recorded as light, medium, or heavy; see Table 11.4). No intact charcoal was recovered from within any of the hearths. Instead, the central portion of each hearth contained a

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concentration of ash, surrounded by red/brown sediments, presumably oxidized by the heat of the fires. As chapter 13 notes, hearths in the different levels of the site appear to have been burned to different degrees, and the field evaluations of this variable therefore merit some attention. The evaluations as recorded in the notes are obviously somewhat subjective and presumably relied on assessments of the degree of oxidation of the sediment surrounding each hearth’s central ash concentration. However, they can be independently confirmed to some extent by comparing the diameters recorded for hearths in each of the three categories. These data show a fairly clear difference between mean diameters for lightly burned hearths (mean = 1.6 ft, n = 4) and medium and heavily burned hearths (medium: mean = 2.28 ft, n = 2; heavy: mean = 2.14 ft, n = 11). The larger size of the more heavily burned hearths suggests that they did indeed burn longer or more intensely than the more lightly burned hearths, lending some support to the field identifications.

The 1948 crew also plaster cast one of heavily burned hearths from Occupation Level 2 (Feature 27) for a planned museum display but never opened the cast, thus making it possible to examine at least one of these features directly. As described in the notes for all of the Allen site hearths, this feature represents a fire that burned on the unmodified ground surface, and all of the material that once burned within it was either reduced to ash or destroyed or blown away prior to burial. The central ash concentration is white (10YR8/1) and is approximately 50 cm across at its widest point; it is surrounded by an oxidized ring of brown earth (10YR5/3), with the total diameter of the oxidized area at it widest point being approximately 70 cm (2.3 ft). The field notes record a diameter of 64.0 cm (2.1 ft), which seems a fair approximation of the measured maximum here, given the somewhat asymmetrical shape of the feature and the difficulty of discerning the exact edge of the oxidized ring, a problem that would have been more severe in the field.

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Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns at the Allen Site Jean Hudson Approximately 10,000 fragments of bone were recovered from the Allen site, providing a useful sample for examining ideas about the nature of Paleoindian subsistence strategies in the Nebraska plains and changes in site use over time. Although bison dominates the assemblage, especially during the earliest occupation of the site, the variety of animals represented is striking (Table 12.1). This chapter will review the faunal evidence for subsistence and settlement strategies at the Allen site, with special attention to the ways in which these strategies appear to have changed over time and discussion of what these strategies may have meant for the social lives of the Allen site occupants. It begins with a brief review of methods and the history of the analysis, which has involved the efforts of several individuals, notable among them George Corner and Nancy Hamblin, as well as myself. It then outlines the basic temporal and spatial units of analysis. This is followed by an overview of the types of fauna represented and their relative abundance. The subsequent sections detail various aspects of the analysis, framed by four broad topics: the role of small game, the role of large game, the role of aquatic resources, and the evidence from features. Included in these analyses are discussions of taphonomy, ecology, body part distribution, seasonality, regional comparisons, and implications for Paleoindian social life. Finally, the key results of the study are reviewed as they contribute to our understanding of the Allen site.

Methods This study has involved the contributions of several analysts. Some 10,000 fragments of bone were originally recovered. Of these, roughly 3,560 were initially identified by George Corner of the University of Nebraska State Museum and given catalog numbers; this subset represents the fragments with the most diagnostic potential for specific taxonomic identification. The remaining approximately 6,440 fragments were examined later by Nancy Hamblin and identified to the most specific level possible, in most cases at the level of class or order and size. Hamblin also reviewed the original subset and created a database, coding both samples of bone for several variables, including taxon, element, burning, gnawing, and cultural modification. She computerized these data for the original, more identifiable sample and tabulated summary counts for the second sample. Later I computerized the summary counts for the less identifiable bone, and both files were used in the present analysis. I did additional laboratory work and reviewed the collection where it is now stored, at the University of Nebraska State Museum, with particular attention to developing minimum number of elements (MNE) and minimum number of individuals (MNI) values for key species and to evaluating evidence for taphonomic processes affecting the bone. Both MNI and MNE values in this chapter were calculated at the genus level and incorporate all available information from the full assemblage of almost 10,000 fragments, including

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Table 12.1: Vertebrate Fauna from the Allen Site, Number of Identified Specimens per Taxon and Stratigraphic Context Common Name Taxon

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

Unspecified Total Context

Bison Bison sp. 835 115 16 286 Deer Odocoileus sp. 75 54 28 51 Pronghorn Antilocapra americana 34 46 17 56 Medium artiodactyl Artiodactyla 43 28 14 38 (deer or pronghorn) Bear Ursus americanus 1 Wolf Canis lupus 2 Large mammal, undifferentiated Mammalia 1,924 473 180 1,078 Subtotal, large mammals 2,911 716 256 1,511 Coyote Canis latrans 12 10 7 25 Swift fox Vulpes velox 3 3 Badger Taxidea taxus 13 6 2 17 Raccoon Procyon lotor 4 3 Porcupine Erethizon dorsatum 2 Beaver Castor canadensis 1 3 Medium mammal, Mammalia 16 5 2 6 undifferentiated Subtotal, medium mammals 45 25 13 57

1,252 208 153 123 1 2 3,655 5,394 54 6 38 7 2 4 29 140

Weasel Mustela sp. Jackrabbit (blacktail and whitetail) Lepus sp. 334 127 51 Cottontail (eastern and desert) Sylvilagus sp. 123 24 35 Prairie dog (blacktail) Cynomys ludovicianus 150 56 37 Pocket gopher (plains) Geomys bursarius 8 4 6 Wood rat (eastern) Neotoma floridana 1 1 15 Lemming (southern bog) Synaptomys cooperi 2 1 3 Vole (prairie and meadow) Microtus sp. 33 10 30 Mouse (northern grasshopper, Onychomys leucogaster, 4 7 hispid pocket, Perognathus hisptidus, Peryognathus sp., Peryognathus sp., Peromyscus sp.) Peromyscus sp. Rodent, undifferentiated Rodentia 5 5 11 Mole (eastern) Scalopus aquaticus 1 Small mammal, undifferentiated Mammalia 579 311 252 Subtotal, small mammals 1,240 539 447

2 358 111 100 15 9 7 40 13

2 870 293 343 33 26 13 113 24

467 2 458 1,582

488 3 1,600 3,808

Mammal, undifferentiated Mammalia Subtotal, all mammals

79 3,229

230 9,572

55 4,251

55 1,335

41 757

Bald eagle Haliaetus leucocephalus 1 1 2 Northern goshawk Accipiter gentilis 1 1 Redtail hawk Buteo jamaicensis 1 Sparrow hawk Falcon sparverius 1 Hawk, undifferentiated 1 Great horned owl Bubo virginianus 2 1 2

4 2 1 1 1 5

(continued)

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(continued) Table 12.1: Vertebrate Fauna from the Allen Site, Number of Identified Specimens per Taxon and Stratigraphic Context Common Name Taxon

Occupation Intermediate Occupation Level 1 Zone Level 2

Unspecified Total Context

Long eared owl Asio otus 1 Snow goose Chen hyperboreas 6 1 1 Canadian goose Branta canadensis 1 10 4 5 Duck/goose/swan Anatidae 3 Sharptail grouse Pedioecetes phasianellus 1 4 Common crow Corvus brachyrhynchos 1 1 Fringillidae Fringillidae 3 Passiformes Passiformes 1 1 4 Large bird Aves 4 4 6 Medium bird Aves 2 Small bird Aves 2 3 3 Bird, undifferentiated Aves 1 1 5 3 Subtotal, birds 14 28 19 35

1 8 20 3 5 2 3 6 14 2 8 10 96

Tiger salamander Ambystoma tigrinum Leopard frog Rana pipiens 2 2 Woodhouse’s toad Bufo woodhousei 11 1 1 Bufo cognatus Bufo cognatus 25 Toad, undifferentiated Bufo sp. 2 2 2 Frog/toad, undifferentiated Salientia Amphibian, undifferentiated Amphibia 2 1 Subtotal, amphibians 42 3 6

1 19 34 19 2 2 5 82

1 23 47 44 8 2 8 133

Box turtle Terrapene ornata 67 8 7 39 Blanding’s turtle Emydoidea blandingii 18 8 Snapping turtle Chelydra serpentina 1 Pond/marsh/box turtle Emydidae 1 1 Prairie rattlesnake Crotalus viridis 2 Rattlesnake Crotalus sp. 4 1 Coachwhip Masticophis flagellum 1 Plains garter snake Thamnophis radix 10 Common water snake Natrix sipedon 5 Rat snake Elaphe sp. 1 1 Snake, undifferentiated 1 8 Lizard, undifferentiated Squamata 1 2 Subtotal, reptiles 87 18 15 67

121 26 1 2 2 5 1 10 5 2 9 3 187

Catfish Ictaluridae 3 Fish, undifferentiated 3 Subtotal, fish 0 3 3

4 1 5

7 4 11

3,418

9,999

Site total

4,394

1,387

800

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 197

Figure 12.1 Site totals for key taxa. The ten taxa included here are present in all strata and exhibit butcher marks. Seven of the ten, as can be seen from the graph, also share relatively high frequency, with number of identified specimen values greater than 100.

age, size, side, and percent completeness. The interpretive analyses presented here are my work. Temporal and Spatial Units of Analysis When the site was originally excavated in the 1940s, careful attention to the recovery and provenience of all faunal remains was not standard archaeological practice. As noted in chapter 9, the excavated material was not screened. It is fortunate, and a tribute to the excavators’ care and foresight, that the Allen site faunal remains were collected without any apparent bias toward large fauna or large fragments and that they were deemed worthy of curation and study. Their attention to the value of faunal remains is apparent in their habit of noting the animal bone associated with specific features. However, certain analytic limits are imposed by the level at which provenience was originally recorded, and these are outlined below.

Four basic stratigraphic or temporal units can be defined, given the existing data. These are (1) the deepest and oldest occupation, Occupation Level (OL) 1, dated to approximately 10,700–10,200 cal B.C.; (2) an Intermediate Zone (IZ); (3) an upper and younger layer, OL 2, dated to approximately 7500 cal B.C. Finally, we also have items of unspecified stratigraphic or spatial association. A small amount of the bone was originally recorded as feature-associated, and this is examined separately at the feature level as well as being incorporated into the relevant strata analyses. This analysis begins with an overview for the site as a whole, then focuses on the three stratigraphic units, and finally examines the feature data. It is important to note that the sample sizes vary strikingly among the three strata, as can be seen in the final row of Table 12.1. The amount of bone recovered from OL 1 is the largest, with a

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Figure 12.2 Relative importance of large and small mammals, birds, reptiles, amphibians, and fish, as measured by number of identified specimens.

number of identified specimens (NISP) value of over 4,000, while that for OL 2 is the smallest, with an NISP of 800. Tests of the statistical significance of apparent differences between strata are included with the analyses. Overview of Fauna Present One of the immediately striking aspects of the faunal assemblage recovered from the Allen site is the number of different taxa represented. Twenty-one mammals, seven birds, three reptiles, three amphibians, and one fish species have been identified, yielding a combined richness value of 35 distinct taxa. Though some of these are rare and appear in only one temporal component of the site, eight are chronologically ubiquitous and have NISP values over 100 (bison, deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, cottontail, prairie dog, vole, and box turtle); and seven others are found throughout the site’s occupations, although in smaller quantities (coyote, badger, pocket gopher, wood rat, lemming, Canadian goose, and Woodhouse’s toad). Of this subset of 15 taxa that seem especially abundant or constant through time, 10 also exhibit some evidence of butchering, an additional line of evidence for their cultural importance; their relative abundance is graphed in Figure 12.1.

Of special interest is the relative abundance of small mammals, such as jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog, as well as the presence of midsized carnivores and furbearers, such as coyote and badger, and possible wetland resources, such as turtles and toads. This creates an impression of diversified hunting, trapping, and collecting strategies early in the prehistory of the North American plains and adds complexity to popular generalizations about Paleoindian specialization on large game. It also raises the question of how to best distinguish culturally deposited bone from that occurring as natural background noise in the environment, a topic discussed in the next section. The diversity of taxa represented, and the apparent use of a variety of fauna and habitats, should not obscure the dominant role of large mammals, which as a group contribute slightly more than 50.0 percent of the site’s total NISP. Mammals as a group contribute some 96.0 percent of the total NISP, with birds, amphibians, reptiles, and fish contributing less than 2.0 percent each. The contribution of mammals can be broken down further according to body size, as detailed in Table 12.1 and illustrated in Figure 12.2. This indicates that most of the mammal bone comes from either large mammals (54 percent) or small mammals (38 percent).

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 199

Table 12.2: Butchered Bone Taxon Genus

Jackrabbit Cottontail Prairie dog Small mammal Badger Coyote Deer Pronghorn Bison Bald eagle Goose Turtle

Butchered Number of Identified Specimens (NISP)

Total NISP

% Butchered

7 3 1 4 3 4 42 13 111 1 3 1

870 293 343 1,600 38 54 208 153 1,252 4 20 26

<1 1 <1 <1 8 7 20 8 9 25 15 4

Lepus Sylvilagus Cynomys undifferentiated Taxidea Canis Odocoileus Antilocapra Bison Haliaetus Branta Emydoidea

The Role of Small Game and Issues of Taphonomy There is some tendency in zooarchaeological analyses of hunter-gatherer assemblages to dismiss small game, as this category often includes animals that are known to burrow or to be common prey animals for nonhuman predators, two characteristics that allow them to be incorporated into archaeological deposits because of noncultural processes. This is sometimes complicated by assumptions about the potential dietary desirability of certain small fauna and the analytic habit of lumping various types of small animals into a single size category of “small.” Because there are three small mammals that contribute a large amount of bone to the Allen faunal assemblage, it is important to review the relevance of these taphonomic and analytic concerns to their inclusion in the discussion of subsistence strategies. The three taxa in question are jackrabbit (Lepus sp.), cottontail (Sylvilagus sp.), and prairie dog (Cynomys ludovicianus). To provide some indication of their numeric importance within the assemblage, total NISP values are 870 for jackrabbit, 293 for cottontail, and 343 for prairie dog, and the corresponding values for key large game are 1,252 for bison, 208 for deer, and 153 for pronghorn (Table 12.1; Figure 12.1). The predominance

of bison is not a surprise, but the fact that these three small game taxa outnumber deer and pronghorn suggests they are worth a serious evaluation. Two types of evidence are commonly used to help identify whether a given taxon was perceived as potentially useful during the prehistoric occupation. One is the presence of cut marks. The other is the indication of burning within a cultural context, such as a hearth or domestic surface or midden dump that contains other charred materials. Cut marks are present on jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog bone. Butchering marks were originally identified by Nancy Hamblin as including simple cuts, chop marks, and a category she identified as “open” and interpreted as possible evidence for the extraction of marrow from long bones. The open category is omitted here, for long bones can be fractured by natural causes, producing an open marrow cavity that is not associated with human butchering. Jackrabbit bone shows cut marks on femur, tibia, radius, and calcaneus and chop marks on femur and tibia. There is also a metapodial that shows clear evidence of the cut-andsnap technique associated with manufacturing bone beads or tubes. Cottontail bone shows cut marks on the pelvis, tibia, and calcaneus. Prairie dog bone shows a single cut mark on the pelvis. Of all the small mammals

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identified at the genus or species level (see Table 12.1 for a full list), only jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog show clear cut marks. There are also several cases of modified small mammal bone that could not be identified at a more specific taxonomic level. These include a single cut mark and three cases in which small mammal limb shafts suggest bead-manufacturing activities, with one item showing the cut-and-snap technique and two others showing polish and longitudinal striae. The total sample of small mammal bone exhibiting butchering marks is quite small, whether viewed as a raw count (NISP = 15) or as a percentage of all small mammal bone (<1 percent). This compares with a similarly low site-wide average of 5 percent for all bone and notably higher values for larger-bodied animals such as deer, pronghorn, and bison, which range between 7 and 20 percent (Table 12.2). Smaller-bodied fauna require less butchering to render them into units suitable for transport, sharing, cooking, or eating, so smaller percentages of butchered bone are to be expected. The Paleoindian perception of small game would appear to have been that jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog were useful resources. The cut and chop marks suggest food uses, and cut marks on the calcaneus may have been associated with skinning and use of the fur. The cut-and-snap technique and polishing of limb bones indicate that the bone itself was a desired commodity for the manufacture of beads or small tubes. For each of the three small mammal taxa focused on here, the frequency of burned and charred bone is high (Table 12.3). Expressed as the percentage of the total NISP that shows evidence of burning, per taxon, the values are 92 percent for Lepus, 93 percent for Sylvilagus, and 88 percent for Cynomys. Site-wide, and for all taxa, the overall percentage of bone that shows burning is 86 percent. Thus, the degree of burning of these three small mammal taxa slightly exceeds the site norm. It also exceeds the values for the three large game taxa, which are 69 percent for bison, 82 percent for deer, and 82 percent for pronghorn. Given the high percentage of burned bone for the site as a whole, the potential contribution of

nonculinary burning, such as grass fires, should be further evaluated. Elsewhere in this volume (see chapter 10) the analysis of heat damage on lithics suggests that natural fires did burn across the Allen site repeatedly. It is worth noting that 78 percent of the frog bone is burned, and frogs might be judged among the least likely to lose their lives to prairie fires prior to being integrated into a site deposit, given their aquatic lifestyle. A perhaps more robust line of argument is to focus on the specific site features that support a cultural explanation for burned bone, such as hearths and artifact-rich surface scatters, and examine the presence or absence of small game taxa in those contexts. Allen features are discussed in more detail in a later section; data pertaining to the taphonomic implications of burning are briefly summarized here. Two types of features were described by the excavators: hearths and surface scatters. Analyses presented elsewhere in this volume suggest that many of the surface scatters represent dumping areas, where cultural debris was collected and redeposited. Thus both types of features are the result of intentional human activity. Of the 24 features with bone, 10 show the association of large and small game, and eight of these show the burning of both large and small taxa. This suggests that small animals such as jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog were part of the same trajectory of cultural use and discard as bison, deer, and pronghorn. Feature data are discussed more fully below. In summary, three lines of evidence argue in favor of the prehistoric importance of three small game taxa—jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog—at this Paleoindian site. These are their relative abundance in the site, their modification by butchering and tool or ornament manufacture, and their repeated co-occurrence with large game in cultural features associated with the cooking and consumption of food and the discard of food remains. Social Implications of Small Game Use If certain small game taxa, specifically jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog, were of some regular importance to the occupants of the Allen site, what role might

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 201

Table 12.3: Burned Bone Taxon Genus

Jackrabbit (Lepus sp.) Cottontail (Sylvilagus sp.) Prairie dog (Cynomys sp.) Bison (Bison sp.) Deer (Odocoileus sp.) Pronghorn (Antilocapra sp.) Frog (Rana sp.) All bone, site-wide

Burned Number of Identified Specimens (NISP) Unburned NISP

798 272 302 864 170 125 18 8,631

they have played in Paleoindian life? They might have functioned as a background dietary staple, an alternative food source when larger animals whose capture was less certain had not been successfully hunted. They might also have facilitated a social division of labor in game acquisition. A review of some of the biological and behavioral aspects of the animals allows us to speculate about other possible aspects of their use. As dietary resources they represent small packages of meat, well suited to feeding a single family or a few individuals. In the case of the lagomorphs, the meat is notorious, anthropologically, for being lean and putting its eaters at risk of protein poisoning if eaten in large quantities and without complementary sources of fat (Stefansson 1944); jackrabbits and cottontails might thus be most useful as part of the menu rather than its sole constituent. Prairie dogs, like other less-cursorial rodents, could represent fattier snacks. In terms of body weight, prairie dogs are comparable to cottontail, with an average live weight of 1 kg or a little over 2 lbs. In terms of labor investment and energetic cost/ benefit ratios, such small game as rodents and lagomorphs can often be acquired by more passive means, such as traps, and their relatively high density and more even or predictable distribution across the landscape can make them a more certain daily return. Jackrabbits can be hunted in cooperative drives, and their cyclical population explosions suggest that once or twice

72 21 41 388 38 28 5 1,368

Total NISP

% Burned

870 293 343 1,252 208 153 23 9,999

92 93 88 69 82 82 78 86

a decade they could yield very high returns with this style of hunting. Prairie dogs are social animals, and the black-tailed prairie dog in particular is known to live in “towns” of thousands, suggesting that it also could yield very high returns. The fixed location and high density of individuals in prairie dog towns would also make them highly predictable resources. In terms of human social strategies, these small animals represent at least two interesting possibilities. When trapped, they would be well suited to various styles of division of labor, including those that split tasks between individuals who devote most of their time to the pursuit of distant resources with high but uncertain returns and those who remain closer to camp and juggle multiple tasks over the course of the day. The latter group could easily include women with small children, the children themselves, and individuals who, because of age or infirmity, prefer less physically demanding work. When driven by a large group of people, jackrabbit in particular can yield large quantities of food and underwrite the subsistence needs of short-term aggregations of large numbers of people. This is known ethnographically to allow ritually motivated gatherings, such as the mourning ceremonies of Great Basin groups (Bean 1972; Steward 1938, 1968). It might have also proved useful for Paleoindians in search of migrating herds of bison. Temporary aggregations of people and large cooperative efforts both have important social

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Figure 12.3 Changes over time in the relative contribution of six major taxa as measured by number of identified specimens.

properties, facilitating communication and trade networks, creating mutual reliance, binding people together in a shared identity, providing new opportunities for social tension and conflict, and sometimes requiring special types of leadership. As noted previously, small game are also valuable for nondietary purposes. These can include the use of their fur for robes and other clothing and the use of their bones for tools or ornaments. In summary, given some of the ecological properties of the small game animals used at the Allen site, their role in Paleoindian life includes several interesting possibilities. They may have served as a backup resource while larger game was pursued. They may have facilitated a productive division of labor within a camp community that included pregnant or nursing women, children, and elders, as well as younger adult men. They may have helped to underwrite the needs

of temporary aggregations of people. They may have provided raw materials for clothing, tools, and ornaments as well as food. Bison Utilization at Allen There is strong evidence that bison was the single most important prey animal during the early occupation of the Allen site (OL 1), as measured both by NISP and by MNI-based estimates of meat yield (Figures 12.3–12.4; Table 12.4). Both quantification techniques are illustrated here as the contrast between them may serve to balance some of the analytic weaknesses inherent in each. NISP gives every identifiable fragment equal importance and so will overrepresent taxa that are more fragmented or more identifiable, whereas the meat weight estimates used here assume whole carcass usage of average-sized adults and so will overrepresent larger-bodied taxa if only certain parts were

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 203

Figure 12.4 Changes over time in the estimated dietary contribution of six major taxa. Values are based on meat estimates, which are derived by multiplying modern average live weight by minimum number of individuals values for each of the three dated components. See text for cautions regarding such estimates.

consumed on-site or if a high proportion of subadult animals was used. The statistical significance of the apparent variations in the relative abundance of the six taxa among the three temporal zones has been evaluated by two methods, the chi-square test and the orthogonal polynomial method developed by Gray (2003). The NISP distribution is statistically significant (chi square = 281.204, df = 10, p = .001). The MNI distribution is not statistically significant (chi square = 9.654, df = 10, p = .472). The estimated weight distribution is statistically significant (chi square = 542.431, df = 10, p =.001). Although bison’s importance declined over time in absolute and relative terms, its potential dietary contribution remained great because of its very large body size. Modern bison have been documented with live weights between 350 and 1,000 kg, representing an average of 675 kg (Nowak 1991:1432; see also Wheat

1972:107). The B. antiquus form of bison living in North America when the Allen site was occupied would have been even larger. In contrast, an average deer weight would be closer to 125 kg, and an average jackrabbit might weigh 4 kg (Nowak 1991). A single bison could thus provide as much meat as five deer or more than 150 jackrabbits. Given the importance of bison, what can be said about how it was utilized by people at the Allen site? In the discussion that follows, two aspects of bison utilization at the Allen site will be reviewed: the age of the animals represented and the particular parts of the carcass present. Age Profile for Bison Age can provide some clues to the composition of the herd being hunted, and this in turn can help identify the nature of site use and the season of exploitation. For

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Table 12.4: Number of Identified Specimens (NISP), Minimum Number of Individuals (MNI), and Estimated Meat Weight Values for Six Major Taxa over the Three Occupation Periods Common Name Occupation Level 1 Intermediate Zone Occupation Level 2 (average live weight) NISP MNI

Bison (675 kg) Deer (125 kg) Pronghorn (50 kg) Jackrabbit (4 kg) Cottontail (1 kg) Prairie Dog (1 kg)

835 75 34 334 123 150

12 5 3 26 11 28

Estimated NISP MNI Weight (kg)

7,425* 625 150 104 11 28

115 54 46 127 24 56

3 4 4 11 4 8

Estimated NISP MNI Weight (kg)

2,025 500 *150 44 4 8

16 28 17 51 35 37

2 3 1 4 5 4

Estimated Weight (kg)

1,320 375 50 16 5 4

Note: Estimated meat weight simply multiplies MNI by the average live weight listed. See text for discussion of this method. * Fetal MNI has been omitted from the estimated weight, because its meat contribution clearly would not be equivalent to that of an average adult. All other subadult animals were included.

modern bison herds, composition during much of the year consists of a core maternal group of adult females and young surrounded by peripheral males. May is the peak birthing season for the Northern Plains, when nursery herds form. Breeding herds of mixed sexes typically form between July and September. It is important to note that the Allen site bison bone does not appear to be the result of a single massive kill. The stratigraphy, the features, and the diversity of the faunal assemblage all argue for multiple occupations and for a campsite-like use. Thus, the age profile data are likely to combine multiple hunting events and may represent more than one season. Hamblin looked at both dentition and epiphyseal fusion to document age. In some cases, she also noted whether the aged animal was particularly large or small. Based on these data, the use of nonoverlapping age categories, and the redundancy of the aged element, a conservative age profile was developed. Because of the sample size differences in the amount of bison bone per temporal unit, only the material from OL 1 is graphed. The other two temporal units are described. For OL 1, there were at least one fetus, at least two individuals from the current birthing season (at or under six months of age), at least three subadult individuals between 1.5 and 3.5 years old, at least four adult

individuals between 4.5 and 9.5 years old, and at least two mature adult individuals aged at 10.5 years or older (Figure 12.5). Hamblin documents relative size for four of the adults, characterizing three as large and one as small. Although she does not correlate the size differences with sex, sexual dimorphism among adult bison increases the likelihood that a mix of adult males and females are represented here. This age profile, with the inclusion of animals young enough to be traveling with their mothers and the presence of adults of mixed ages and probably both sexes, is consistent with predation on several kinds of herds: (1) a nursery herd of adult females and young, (2) a mixed-sex breeding herd of one or more adult males and females and several subadults and immature animals, or (3) a combination of multiple hunting events, including both nursery herds and bachelor herds (Bamforth 1988a:81; Nowak 1991:1442–1443; Wheat 1972:86–89). However, given that the aggregate sample of bone from OL 1 probably accumulated over more than a century, the age profile might more likely represent the result of opportunistic hunting of individuals rather than the targeting of particular types of herds. The presence of animals still in their first six months of life does argue for at least one hunting season between May and November. Various authors have suggested that adult females with calves would be favored

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Figure 12.5 Age profile for bison from Occupation Level 1.

targets during the late summer to fall (McCartney 1990; Speth 1983, 1997; Todd 1991). The MNI values for the other two temporal units are smaller, yielding a sketchier sense of both age profile and season of exploitation. For the Intermediate Zone, there is at least one animal aged at 3.5 years or older and at least one animal aged between 5.5 and 9.5 years. Hamblin identifies at least one adult as large, which suggests the presence of at least one male. For OL 2, there is at least one large animal aged at 4.5 years or older, again suggesting a male. Thus, for both these later samples there is evidence for the hunting of adults, and perhaps specifically male adults, which could happen in various seasons, although fat-oriented decision making by hunters should target males in the mid- to late winter or early spring (Bement 1999; McCartney 1990; Speth 1983). The age profiles from these small samples thus hint at changing patterns of bison use over time. In the earlier OL 1 occupation, the strategy appears mixed, including summer/fall predation on nursery herds in combination with fall or winter predation on adult males. This may have been followed by a shift to greater emphasis on adult males and smaller winter hunts during the IZ and OL 2 occupations. Other lines of evidence for seasonality at the Allen site include the somewhat sheltered location near

permanent water, perhaps particularly attractive in the late summer and early fall and continuing into winter, and the presence of seasonal fauna. Small amounts of fish bone, and larger amounts of frog and toad, argue for warm-weather seasons, sometime between late spring and early fall. The presence of Canadian geese may represent seasonal migrants, in which case peak populations would be most likely in the spring and fall, although small populations of year-round residents are also possible (cf. Grayson and Thomas 1983). Chatters’s analysis of freshwater mussel shell from the Allen site (chapter 5) suggests its use during July, August, and September, with an emphasis on August. In combination, these data suggest that the Allen site may have been used repeatedly during several seasons of the year, with a special emphasis in the late summer and fall. Body Part Representation for Bison Body part representation for a large-bodied animal like the bison is often used as a clue to site function: did the site serve as a specialized butchering locale near the original kill, where less valuable parts of the carcass were left behind; or a residential base camp at some distance from the kill, to which only the meatier parts were transported; or a short-term camp near the kill site, where both butchering and consumption occurred? Examination of the relative

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Table 12.5: Bison Body Part Distribution per Occupation Period, Measured as Number of Identified Specimens per Element Element

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Occupation Level 2

Site Total

Cranial Mandibular Loose teeth Hyoid Vertebra—cervical Vertebra—thoracic Vertebra—lumbar Vertebra—undifferentiated Rib Scapula Humerus Radius-ulna Carpal Metacarpal Innominate Femur Tibia-fibula Tarsal Metatarsal Metapodial—undifferentiated Phalanx—undifferentiated Undifferentiated

46 13 34 8 4 10 4 6 244 5 14 9 9 19 3 2 15 8 16 8 68 290

17 3 8 0 1 1 4 0 20 1 2 1 0 1 0 1 0 1 2 2 8 40

4 1 1 0 1 2 0 0 4 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 2 0 0 0 1 2

90 21 70 14 6 16 9 8 324 6 20 13 15 25 6 7 19 19 22 15 99 428

Totals

835

115

16

1,252

numbers of different elements of the skeleton can be used to evaluate these decisions. However, because many factors can influence the bone recovered archaeologically, including cultural decisions and natural taphonomic processes, as well as techniques of recovery and analysis, the interpretation of element distribution can be challenging. The approach used here is one of zooarchaeology’s current “industry standards” and one often published for Plains bison sites. It involves calculating and evaluating minimal animal units (MAU), checking to see whether the variation can be explained by density-mediated attrition alone (Lyman 1994), and evaluating whether the relative abundance of different body parts matches expectations based on

nutritional utility. To facilitate the comparison of Allen with other roughly contemporary sites, the particular MAU techniques used here are detailed below, and alternative quantification is presented for those who prefer to apply other techniques. The base data are summarized in two tables. Table 12.5 provides the NISP for each bison skeletal element separately for each of the three occupation periods and then sums these data in combination with the bone from unknown provenience to provide site totals. This makes it easy to recognize that the three temporal zones differ greatly in sample size and that OL 1 has a strong influence on the site totals. OL 1 shows some representation of every element, with the highest NISP values associated with the head, the

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 207

ribs, and the phalanges. The IZ shows some representation of most elements, with the highest NISP values associated with the head and the ribs. OL 2, with a total sample of 16 fragments, does not inspire confident pattern recognition. The simple pattern of presence/absence per element for the three occupation periods is illustrated in Figure 12.6. Certain elements are treated as sets in a manner parallel to that in Table 12.5; for example, if one rib fragment was identified, all ribs are shaded in the illustration. Four elements were not identified for any bison from this site and are never shaded: horn cores, sternal fragments, sacral fragments, and caudal vertebrae. Table 12.6 provides bison body part distribution data only for OL 1, where the sample size is largest. It is designed to allow comparison with other published data sets, both earlier ones that rely on NISP and more recent ones that use some version of MNE or MNI represented by each element. For the comparison attempted here, MAU values are derived from MNE. Proximal and distal parts of limb elements have been collapsed, so that the minimal animal unit is a complete element. The MAU value is then indexed, by dividing each value by the highest of the values in the data set. A density value is provided to test whether the relative frequencies measured by MAU can be explained by the ability of the element to survive destructive taphonomic processes because of its physical density. A nutritional utility index is provided to test the fit of site function models based on subsistence goals. Do the body part frequencies for bison from OL 1 match those expected to result from taphonomic processes, particularly those involving density-mediated attrition, where the least dense parts are destroyed first? The correlation of percent MAU and bone density was evaluated using Spearman’s rank test. The correlation coefficient, adjusted for ties (+0.4621, N = 11) is not significant, with an exact probability of 0.15, suggesting that density-based survival does not adequately predict the MAU frequencies for OL 1. Can the relative frequencies of bison body parts be explained as the result of a cultural strategy based on nutrition? The correlation of percent MAU and nutri-

Figure 12.6 Presence/absence for particular bison elements per occupation period. Shading indicates the presence of the element, not completeness. Certain elements are treated as sets, as explained in the text.

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Table 12.6: Bison Body Part Distribution for Occupation Level 1 Relative Frequency, Taphonomic Susceptibility, and Nutritional Value

Element

NISP

MNE

MNI

MAU

% MAU

Bone Density

Utility Index

Cranial Vertebra Rib Scapula Humerus Radius-ulna Metacarpal Innominate Femur Tibia Metatarsal

93 24 244 5 14 9 19 3 2 15 16

10 10 44 3 5 3 10 2 2 5 8

10 2 4 2 3 2 6 1 1 4 5

10 0.38 1.69 1.5 2.5 1.5 5 1 1 2.5 4

100 4 17 15 25 15 50 10 10 25 40

0.62 0.34 0.57 0.50 0.48 0.62 0.52 0.55 0.45 0.76 0.52

10.4 54.5 73.3 28.4 28.4 19.7 6.0 39.8 100.0 58.1 15.9

Note: NISP = number of identified specimens, MNE = minimum number of elements, MNI = minimum number of individuals, MAU = minimal animal units. MNE considers age, size, side, and percent completeness. MNI considers age, size, side, and percent completeness and is calculated independently for each element; it thus differs from the MNI for the entire Occupation Level 1 assemblage. MAU is derived from MNE values. Bone density is derived from Kreutzer (1992) using the highest value for the element, as this represents each element’s best chance for survival. The utility index is based on Emerson’s (1993) Total Products model for whole elements, which is based on calories and includes muscle and fat; the value for vertebra is an average of cervical, thoracic, and lumbar.

tional value (Emerson’s TP, as defined in Emerson 1993) was evaluated using Spearman’s rank test. The correlation coefficient, adjusted for ties (–0.6651, N = 11) is significant, with an exact probability of 0.0255. Thus, nutritional strategies could explain the MAU frequencies for OL 1. The negative correlation indicates that there are higher frequencies of parts with lower nutritional utility. This is the type of pattern generally hypothesized for kill sites and often referred to as a reverse bulk strategy (Binford 1978b; Lyman 1994; Thomas and Mayer 1983). The types and distributions of butchering marks indicate both primary and secondary types of butchering. Marks associated with cutting meat from bone occur widely on the skeleton, as do the battering and chopping marks associated with the heavier blows of primary butchery, suggesting fairly full processing of bison carcasses at the site. There are other lines of evidence that can be combined with body part frequencies in evaluating site function or the role that the Allen site played for the Paleoindians living in the region in OL 1 times. Wheat (1978, 1979) summarizes several of these in his

discussion of the Jurgens site and his comparison of Jurgens with Olsen-Chubbuck. They include the diversity of fauna represented, the number of bison and completeness of skeletons, the degree of disarticulation and fragmentation, and the types of associated artifacts. Todd (1987:231) reviews these in a concise table format. Key to the site typology created by Wheat is the recognition that mass drives of an animal as physically large as bison, and as prone to migrating in large herds, are a special case in the larger pattern of human hunting. He differentiates kill sites, butchering sites, longterm camps, and short-term camps. Allen OL 1 has several attributes of a long-term camp. Although bison bone is relatively abundant, it tends to be disarticulated and fragmented, with a lack of intact skulls. As is the case in Jurgens Area 1, many other taxa are present as well as bison, arguing for diverse hunting activities over a longer time. However, OL 1 does not match Wheat’s expectation that easily transported meaty units, such as limbs and sections of the vertebral column, should dominate the bison assemblage. Though limb elements,

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 209

vertebrae, and ribs are all present, there is enough dental evidence of animals of distinct ages to result in MAU values that are dominated by the head. Thus, OL 1 appears to be a hybrid type of site, in terms of Wheat’s typology, with attributes of a longterm camp combined with body part frequencies suggestive of a kill site. This combination would be compatible with a moderately mobile settlement strategy, where a camp was occupied for several weeks, with kills of bison and other animals occurring close enough to camp to result in bringing back a full spectrum of body parts. It would also be compatible with a style of bison hunting that targeted a few animals at a time rather than driving large numbers to a mass kill. If the bison body part distribution from OL 1 is consistent with some type of relatively long-term camp, was this a stable pattern of landscape use over time? The sample sizes for IZ and OL 2 are considerably smaller, so patterning is less robust, and interpretation more tentative. Presence/absence data (Figure 12.6) in combination with MNI (Table 12.4) and NISP distribution (Table 12.5) suggest that the Intermediate Zone body part use paralleled that of OL 1, although on a less intensive scale, representing shorter camp occupations or fewer occupations over the time span. By OL 2 times, bison were of less importance (Table 12.4; Figures 12.3–12.4), and limb elements are poorly represented in the 16 bison bone fragments recovered (Table 12.5; Figure 12.6), suggesting they may have been transported elsewhere and that camp stays at Allen may have been even briefer and less frequent. Figure 12.4 suggests that the most dramatic shifts in the dietary role of bison may have taken place somewhat earlier, between OL 1 and IZ times. Although interpretive emphasis here is on changes in mobility strategies over time, other aspects of human ecology also deserve mention. We often model forager mobility as closely linked to patterns of available resources. If resource density is high, there is less need to move, resulting in longer occupations and more frequent reoccupation. However, if resources become less abundant on the landscape or more widely dispersed temporally or spatially, then

mobility increases, resulting in briefer occupations and less frequent reoccupation of specific sites. Considerable attention has been drawn in recent literature to the concept of resource depression and specifically to the idea that human foragers can be causal agents for local reductions of previously abundant resources (Broughton 2002; Butler 2000; Byers and Broughton 2004; Stiner et al. 1999; Wolverton 2005). If overhunting results in a depressed abundance of large game, then ecological theory predicts increased mobility on the part of the hunters, an increase in diet breadth, or both. At the Allen site the faunal data suggest exactly this type of temporal shift, with an increase in mobility and a decreased reliance on bison over time. However, it does not follow that human hunters were the cause. Given their low population density in comparison with the bison, it is mathematically unlikely that early human foragers had a significant impact. Other causal factors deserve consideration. If bison became a less reliable resource after the OL 1 occupation, large-scale climatic and environmental changes are more plausible causal factors. The changes in sedimentation rates at Allen as well as the increased use of more arid-adapted species, such as jackrabbit and pronghorn, during the IZ occupations support an interpretation of climatic change. Taphonomic Filters Taphonomic filters are always a concern when evaluating body part distributions. Spearman’s rank correlation was used to test the possible influence of density-mediated attrition in OL 1; the results indicate that taphonomic destruction based on bone density did not predict the body part patterning in the oldest occupation. Density-mediated attrition often parallels that of carnivore damage, as carnivores typically favor and are more destructive of the nutrientrich cancellous bone that also has low mineral density. A second line of evidence for carnivore damage is the presence of gnaw marks. Hamblin noted the presence of both carnivore and rodent gnaw marks. These data are summarized in Table 12.7. The percentage of bone exhibiting carnivore gnaw marks is always less than 10 percent. Rodent damage is roughly twice

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Table 12.7: Gnaw Marks on Bison Bone, Number of Identified Specimens (NISP) and Percentage of NISP Type of Gnaw Mark

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Occupation Level 2

n

%

n

%

n

%

Carnivore Rodent None

21 53 757

3 6 91

5 10 100

4 9 87

1 2 13

6 13 81

Total

831

100

115

100

16

100

as common as carnivore damage, and the percentage of damage of both types appears to increase slightly over time, although the difference between the samples is not statistically significant (chi square = 3.82, df = 4, p = .431). Carnivore gnaw marks appear on a range of skeletal elements, including cranial elements, vertebral elements, ribs, tarsals, metapodials, and phalanges. They are rare on middle and upper limb elements, with only the innominate and radius noted. Carnivores can completely destroy the nutritionally attractive epiphyseal ends of limb bones, and the ratio of ends to shafts can be used as a clue to carnivore damage (Binford 1984; Blumenschine and Marean 1993; Todd 1987; and many others). At Allen, both humerus and tibia are consistent with this expected pattern, as seen in Table 12.8. As noted above, other forms of densitymediated attrition would produce such shaft-dominated results as well. The presence of rodent gnaw marks, in combination with the range of weathering characteristics seen on the bone at Allen, suggests that bison and other animal bone was left exposed on the site surface. Behrensmeyer’s (1978) weathering typology can be applied to the Allen assemblage to approximate some of the possible time gaps between camp occupations or between the temporary abandonment of the site and natural soil buildup (Table 12.9). The bone shows a mix of weathering patterns: most bone appears to have been buried rapidly, with little evidence of exposure, whereas some fragments

Table 12.8: Bison End:Shaft Ratio for Humerus and Tibia Based on Number of Identified Specimens Element (Site)

Humerus Tibia

Ends:Shafts (Occupation Level 1)

1:4 1:3.5

Ends:Shafts

1:4.3 1:2.7

clearly stayed on the surface long enough to show onesided weathering or severe weathering. For the site as a whole, roughly 20 percent of the bison bone shows weathering indicative of two or more years of surface exposure, and roughly 80 percent shows little or no weathering, suggesting rapid burial. This is consistent with a pattern of site occupation that involved several days or weeks of residence, followed by periods of absence, perhaps as long as several years. In summary, carnivore scavenging in combination with rodent gnawing, and physical and chemical decay, were certainly part of the taphonomic history at Allen. However, statistical tests on the large sample from OL 1 suggest that their effects were not severe enough to obscure other, more culturally driven influences, such as nutritional goals or decisions about seasonal use of the landscape and its resources. Intersite Comparison of Bison Use To answer questions about how the subsistence and settlement patterns reflected at Allen compare with

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 211

Table 12.9: Percentage of Bison Bone Weathering Type of Weathering

Little to None 2 to 6 Years 4 to 15 Years 6 to 15 Years

Occupation Level 1 (N = 488)

Intermediate Zone (N = 73)

Occupation Level 2 (N = 11)

Total (N = 740)

83 5 10 2

78 11 10 1

100 0 0 0

81 7 10 2

Note: Percentages are based on number of identified specimens for those bones for which weathering characteristics were recorded and could be matched to Behrensmeyer’s (1978) criteria.

those at other contemporaneous sites, an intersite analysis of element frequencies of bison was conducted. The focus was on bison, as it is the species that is most abundant and most widely documented in terms of body part distribution. It is expected that use of such a large animal will involve butchering and transport decisions and that these decisions will in turn reflect the function of the particular site within the larger subsistence and settlement system. Eight Plains Paleoindian sites or components were compared with Allen. These were selected based on contemporaneity and availability of published data. They are Casper, Cooper Upper, Cooper Middle, Cooper Lower, Horner II, Jones-Miller, Lamb Spring, and Olsen-Chubbuck. These sites are distributed across the Plains among Nebraska (Allen), Wyoming (Horner II and Casper), Colorado (Lamb Springs, Jones-Miller, and Olsen-Chubbuck), and Oklahoma (Cooper). Of the Allen deposits, only OL 1 and IZ are included in this comparison, as the OL 2 sample was too small. An attempt was made to include Jurgens 1 and Jurgens 2, as these seem by Wheat’s (1978, 1979) descriptions to represent parallels to Allen OL 1 and Allen IZ. However, it was not possible to translate with confidence the types of element frequencies published in 1979 into the type of MAU calculations that became common after 1984. MAU data for the other sites came from Bement’s (1999) volume on the Cooper site and Todd’s (1991) comparison of bison kill/butchery sites. The MAU values for selected elements of bison from these assemblages are graphed in Figure 12.7.

Only those elements for which uniform data were available are included. These are the cranium, scapula, humerus, radius, metacarpal, innominate, femur, tibia, and metatarsal. The strengths of this comparison thus lie in the ability to contrast crania with postcranial elements, front limbs with hind limbs, and upper limb elements with lower limb elements. Such contrasts can serve as proxies for behavioral choices involving portability and nutritional utility and taphonomic processes involving density. In order to preserve a visual impression of sample size differences between the assemblages, the MAU values were not indexed for this graph. Indexing is a common technique that standardizes each assemblage to a maximum frequency of 100 percent. Binford’s (1984) minimal animal unit technique was used. In essence, this quantitative approach attempts to level the differential anatomical frequencies found naturally in a whole carcass, so that overor underrepresentation of particular body parts can be recognized. If graphed in Figure 12.7, the MAU values for a single, complete carcass would produce a straight line. Departures from this ideal can be interpreted as the result of human behaviors, such as differential transport of meatier sections, or taphonomic processes, such as density-mediated attrition. As noted previously, the effects of such biases can be predicted. For example, meat-poor elements such as crania are predicted to be more abundant at kill sites and less abundant at residential camps, and low-density bones such as femurs are predicted to be less abundant

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Figure 12.7 Intersite comparison of bison minimal animal unit values.

at sites where carnivores or other destructive agents have been at work. Like all quantitative measures in zooarchaeology, MAU has certain weaknesses. Perhaps one of the greatest is the potential variation among analysts in the exact manner in which it is calculated and some apparent ambiguity in how Binford’s original phrasing regarding sex, age, and side is interpreted: Given my focus on anatomical segments, I ignore differences between sex, age, and side, since these are properties of animals. A proximal humerus is still a proximal humerus, regardless of left-versus-right orientation on the animal, or the age or sex of the animal from which it was derived. . . . This is not to say that age, sex, and side information are not useful, or should not be regularly recorded in

studying fauna, only that these are not attributes that define minimum numbers of anatomical elements. [1984:51] If details of side and age are ignored when calculating MNE and MAU, and only percent completeness or physical overlap of fragments is used to establish minimum values, a lower number may result than could be reasonably derived with the use of such details. This is particularly obvious with the cranium, where isolated teeth or sets of adjacent teeth may provide considerable detail about the age of different individual crania that would be lost if only percent completeness and physical overlap of fragments were considered. It can also affect other elements where age, sex, size, or side can be distinguished. To illustrate this, MAU has been graphed in two ways for Allen OL 1 in Figure 12.8, once using all

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 213

Figure 12.8 Comparison of minimal animal unit (MAU) methods. Data are from Allen site Occupation Level 1 bison. Two versions of MAU values are graphed: one incorporates information on side, age, and size; the other ignores these attributes.

available information about age, sex, and side as well as completeness and once ignoring age, sex, and side and relying only on completeness. The first method indicates an overabundance of crania. The second method drops the frequency of crania to a level similar to that for metapodials. Both methods could yield an interpretation that low-meat-utility elements were present in higher frequencies than high-meat-utility ones or that heavy bones with good fat potential (brain tissue and marrow) were more abundant. In Figure 12.7, the latter MAU is graphed, as the comparative data from other sites are derived according to the methods given by Binford (1984). For the intersite comparison illustrated in Figure 12.7, three types of patterns are readily apparent: the first concerns sample size, the second involves the relative frequency of cranial remains in contrast to postcranial material, and the third con-

cerns the degree to which postcranial materials are evenly or unevenly represented. In terms of sample size, Olsen-Chubbuck and Jones-Miller stand out as especially large assemblages, with element frequencies greater than 80. Horner II and Casper fall in a midsized range, with frequencies less than 80 but greater than 20. The remaining assemblages, including the three levels at Cooper, Lamb Spring, and OL 1 and IZ at Allen, all fall below or near elemental frequencies of 20. Sample size can reflect differences in the percent of the site excavated or the degree to which several separate events have become blurred archaeologically because of depositional processes, but prehistoric behavior may also be represented. The four larger samples, Olsen-Chubbuck, JonesMiller, Horner II, and Casper, have all been interpreted as kill/butchery sites associated with mass drives; for Jones-Miller and Horner II, these may represent

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repeated, superimposed events rather than a single drive (McCartney 1990; Stanford 1978; Todd 1987). Interestingly, if the three deposits at Cooper had not been discernable as separate events (see Labelle 2000), the sample size for Cooper would appear similar to those at Casper and Horner II. In contrast, the other small samples, including Lamb Spring, Allen OL 1, and Allen IZ, have been described as the result of repeated small-scale bison hunts, perhaps in different seasons, or as campsites that were occupied for several weeks at a time while bison and other game were procured. This echoes observations made by Wheat (1978, 1979) and McCartney (1990) that a full understanding of Paleoindian use of bison and the Plains should incorporate both mass kills and other styles of exploitation, such as small-scale seasonal hunts and bison hunts combined with other types of food procurement. Sample size may be one reflection of these diverse strategies. The relative frequency of cranial versus postcranial materials is expected to provide a good clue to whether the site functioned primarily as a kill site, where lowutility heads would be abandoned, or as an associated processing or consumption site. As illustrated in Figure 12.7, Olsen-Chubbuck and Casper fit the kill site model, with higher frequencies of crania, and both sites are described as mass kills. Two other sites, JonesMiller and Horner II, stand out for their low cranial frequencies; these are described as kill/butchery sites. The remaining sites show relatively even frequencies, suggesting little body part bias and full carcass use on-site; these include Lamb Spring, Allen OL 1, Allen IZ, and the three Cooper assemblages. Of these, the two Allen assemblages have other attributes of forager camps, such as faunal and artifactual diversity and hearth features. In contrast, the relative skeletal completeness at Lamb Spring and Cooper may reflect a butchering emphasis on stripping meat with very little disarticulation or removal of bones, instead of repeated use of these sites as residential bases for foragers. The third point of comparison is the evenness of the distribution of postcranial materials. A high degree of evenness suggests whole carcass use on-site without major taphonomic effects. If the distribution

is uneven, then the role of taphonomic filters, utility biases, or differential transport of complete limbs can be evaluated. Most of the assemblages illustrated in Figure 12.7 show fairly even distributions. There is one notable exception; Jones-Miller shows a striking lack of femurs, which may be attributed to carnivore scavenging (Todd 1987). Milder deviations are seen in other assemblages. At Casper and Cooper Lower, hind limbs seem somewhat underrepresented in comparison with front limbs, suggesting each may have been viewed as a discrete butchering unit. Todd (1987) notes that Paleoindian sites in general tend to show even frequencies per limb, as though complete limbs were often the unit of transport, processing, or use. At Cooper Upper and Middle, metatarsals are underrepresented, and at Allen OL 1 metapodial values are high; this may represent differential destruction as a result of marrow extraction and discard at the site of consumption. In combination, these three types of patterning suggest some diversity in how bison were hunted and used by Plains Paleoindians. This diversity includes large-scale drives and fairly massive butchering efforts in some cases, with or without extensive carnivore scavenging, as seen at Olsen-Chubbuck, Jones-Miller, Horner II, and Casper. In other cases several bison appear to have been hunted and processed fairly completely, within a range of settlement scenarios that might include small-scale drives or procurement and processing sites that targeted bison in particular, such as Cooper and Lamb Spring, or forager campsites of varying duration where bison hunts were part of a mix of subsistence activities, such as Allen OL 1 and IZ. Comparison of Allen and Lime Creek Analysis of the Lime Creek fauna (Jones 1999) allows one additional intersite comparison. Lime Creek is located within the Medicine Creek drainage at an easy walking distance from Allen and overlaps the Allen site in time, with Lime Creek’s Level 1 roughly contemporary with Allen’s IZ. The two components are similar in many ways, including overall sample size, bison sample size, the importance of pronghorn, and the presence of a relatively diverse array of taxa.

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 215

There is considerable overlap in the taxa represented, with a few interesting exceptions. Lime Creek has elk bone, but the only indication of elk at Allen came in the form of blood residue on one projectile point (chapter 10). The most distinctive aspect of the Lime Creek fauna is the presence of a relatively large amount of beaver. The beaver bone NISP and MNI are greater than those for bison, and the beaver is heavily butchered, indicating it was a cultural inclusion. Jones notes that mixed ages are represented and suggests that this might represent the culling of a single lodge. Trapping beaver requires quite a bit of skill (Frison 1991b:265; Nelson 1986:249–259), but beaver would offer some special dividends to a hunter in terms of both fat and fur. In general, Lime Creek Level 1, like Allen, suggests that bison hunting was mixed with other hunting or trapping and that use of the site was probably sporadic and short-term and part of a larger, fairly mobile strategy, perhaps focused on obtaining Smoky Hill jasper from nearby outcrops (Bamforth 2002a; Hicks 2002). A look at bison body part distribution suggests that Lime Creek Level 1 and Allen IZ might be different pieces of the same larger puzzle, although MNI values of 3 at Lime Creek limit the confidence of MAU comparisons. Lime Creek shows a slight emphasis on the cranium and some of the meatier elements, including humerus, innominate, and femur, whereas Allen IZ shows a slight emphasis on the cranium and a lack of innominate as part of a distribution that is generally very even. Both components fall at the small end of the spectrum in terms of the total number of bison kills, and both MAU distributions are consistent with occasional, individual kills made near the site of consumption. Deer and Pronghorn Utilization Deer and pronghorn served as alternative or complementary large game targets throughout the Paleoindian use of the Allen site, and their relative importance increased over time as reliance on bison decreased (Tables 12.1 and 12.4; Figures 12.3–12.4). Deer appears to have been somewhat more important than pronghorn, although the relative contribution of pronghorn

jumps slightly during the Intermediate Zone period. In a parallel fashion, the role of jackrabbit in comparison with cottontail surges at the same time. Both pronghorn and jackrabbit are better adapted to arid environments, and these small shifts may represent a rebalancing of hunting strategies to match changing environmental conditions during the time period represented by the IZ. Because deer and pronghorn are both large animals, Paleoindian transport decisions and site use should be reflected by an analysis of their body part distributions. Sample sizes are smaller than those for bison in OL 1, so the skeletal element data are provided here in simple presence/absence illustrations (Figures 12.9–12.10). Deer elements from all three temporal zones include both high-utility elements such as upper limbs, thoracic vertebrae, and ribs and low-utility elements such as cranial or mandibular fragments and distal limbs. This parallels the pattern seen with bison and is consistent with the use of Allen as a residential campsite located near the kills. The presence of elements with relatively low mineral density as well as relatively high associated nutritional value, such as ribs and vertebrae, suggests that densitymediated taphonomic processes are not severely obscuring our glimpse of human behavior. Change over time also parallels that for bison, with decreasing amounts of bone suggesting less intensive or less frequent site use over time. Deer antler was recovered from all three periods, a reminder that male deer were among those utilized and that deer were likely valued as a source for raw materials as well as meat. Deer bone from OL 1 includes three items clearly modified for tool use as awls. Pronghorn elements show a somewhat weaker parallel to the patterns seen for deer and bison. Both high- and low-utility elements are present in all three temporal zones, although there is evidence suggestive of transport of some high-utility body parts away from the site, especially during IZ and OL 2 times. This would be consistent with the use of Allen as a temporary campsite in an increasingly mobile foraging use of the landscape. As noted above, the relative

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Figure 12.9

Figure 12.10

Presence/absence for particular deer elements per occupation period. Shading indicates the presence of the element, not completeness. Certain elements are treated as sets, as explained in the text. Number of identified specimens (NISP) for Occupation Level (OL) 1 = 75, NISP for the Intermediate Zone = 54, and NISP for OL 2 = 28.

Presence/absence for particular pronghorn elements per occupation period. Shading indicates the presence of the element, not completeness. Certain elements are treated as sets, as explained in the text. Number of identified specimens (NISP) for Occupation Level (OL) 1 = 34, NISP for the Intermediate Zone = 46, NISP for OL 2 = 17.

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 217

intensity of pronghorn use over time differs from that of bison or deer in that there is a slight increase during the Intermediate Zone; this may reflect an ecological response to a greater availability of pronghorn during more arid times. Both deer and pronghorn show interesting parallels to the bison in the range of ages of animals killed, with immature animals represented as well as adults of varying sizes and ages. Although sample sizes are small in terms of MNI per temporal zone, in all cases except pronghorn from OL 2 there is at least one immature animal and one adult. The mix of ages and exploitation of young animals may be the result of opportunistic encounter-style hunting or the targeting of females with young. Butchering and taphonomic processes parallel those seen for bison. Both deer and pronghorn remains show a mix of primary and secondary butchery marks and a relatively high frequency of burned bone (Table 12.3). Rodent gnaw marks are more common than carnivore gnaw marks, but carnivore damage is present. Weathering patterns include cracking, erosion, splintering, and one-sided exposure, indicating that some bone remained on the surface for several years. In summary, many of the patterns of cultural use and postdepositional decay that characterize bison are seen in the deer and pronghorn remains as well. A mix of high- and low-utility body parts suggests foragerstyle camp use, with temporary camps occupied long enough to accumulate several kills and the periods of abandonment between use long enough to accumulate visible traces of carnivore scavenging, rodent gnawing, and surface weathering. Although all three large game species were in use in all three occupational periods, the relative contribution of each shifted over time, with bison very important in the earliest occupations and deer and pronghorn becoming more important in the later occupations. Social Implications of the Use of Large Game Given the importance of bison, deer, and pronghorn to the people using the Allen site, what are some of the social implications? Bison and pronghorn can be

driven, which opens the possibility of large cooperative teams of hunters and butchers. Drives are a form of hunting that can involve the participation of adults of both sexes and older children. Processing large carcasses promptly, especially those of bison size, is well suited to social teamwork and division of labor. Deer are more typically stalked by single hunters or a very small team; bison and pronghorn could also be pursued in this style, and the small MNI values at Allen suggest small-scale pursuits rather than large drives. The hunting of large game animals has social implications for activities occurring after the kill as well. Their large body size leads to certain expectations about the kinds of butchering and redistribution decisions that must be made. Evolutionary ecology predicts that sharing meat will be an important social benefit for those sharing the risks of success and failure in the hunt. The presence of large game animals in combination with small game at Allen suggests a camp life that involved various forms of division of labor, pooling of resources and risks, and sharing of meat by the coresidential group. Use of Aquatic Resources One of the notable environmental aspects of the Allen site is its location along a creek. Other contributors to this volume have suggested that the Allen site’s riverine location and secure access to water may have been one of its enduring attractions. Riverine species present in the Allen faunal assemblage include fish, waterfowl, frog, toad, and turtle. These are summarized in Table 12.10 and detailed in Table 12.1. Most are represented by very small absolute quantities. All of these broad categories show some evidence of burning. Only waterfowl and turtle exhibit clear evidence of butchering in the form of cut marks, although, as noted previously, small fauna generally require less butchering, and small samples reduce the likelihood of encountering butchering marks. Eleven fish bones were identified in the collection. All of those identifiable at a more specific taxonomic level are catfish (Ictaluridae). The low frequencies of fish bone may be a product of poor preservation and the lack of fine-mesh recovery techniques, as well as

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Table 12.10: Fauna Associated with Aquatic Habitats

Common Name

Number of Identified Specimens

Minimum Number of Individuals



Waterfowl Fish Turtles Frogs Toads

31 11 150 23 99

9 3 8 4 12

Note: Site-wide values for selected taxa. The combined number of identified specimens represents roughly 3 percent of the total faunal assemblage. See Table 12.1 for details of species represented and temporal distribution.

cultural behavior. Some of the fish bone was burned or charred. Some migratory waterfowl are present, yet absolute abundance per temporal period is small. All of the waterfowl identifiable at a more specific taxonomic level are geese (Branta and Chen). Canadian geese (Branta canadensis) show evidence of butchering on several wing elements, including humerus, ulna, and carpometacarpus. Aside from their food value and their potential seasonal abundance during spring and fall, such large birds are known in more recent times to have been valued for their wings, which could serve as fans to move smoke in ceremonial contexts or as source bone for the manufacture of whistles or beads (Gilbert et al. 1981; Ubelaker and Wedel 1975). Cut marks also appear on an eagle ulna from Allen, which might represent ceremonial use of bird wings as well. Although archaeologists expect ideological behavior to be especially challenging to identify for mobile foraging people, especially those living several thousand years ago, gentle reminders of this aspect of life do appear in Plains Paleoindian sites (e.g., Bement’s [1999] discussion of a painted bison cranium at Cooper and Stanford’s [1978] discussion of a possible medicine post at Jones-Miller). Of the taxa linked to aquatic environments, only the toads, frogs, and turtles are present in larger numbers. The identified toads (Bufo) are Woodhouse and Great Plains; the identified frog (Rana) is leopard. The identified turtles include Blanding’s (Emydoidea), snapping (Terrapene), and box (Chelydra). In the case

of turtles, NISP values can be elevated by the nature of carapace fragments, which tend to preserve well, are relatively easy to identify, and occur in high frequency per individual. On the other hand, turtle shell can be attractive as a raw material, well suited to the manufacture of rattles and bowls (Olsen 1968). Aquatic resources in general provide another line of evidence for some of the possible seasonal and social parameters of life at Allen. Migratory waterfowl suggest spring or fall exploitation. Catfish suggest summer use of the site. Reptiles and amphibians are active in the summer; some species are especially visible in the early summer when they move across land to find good breeding and egg-laying sites. At latitudes like that of the Allen site, turtles and toads hibernate in the winter, another season in which they could be targeted (Conant and Collins 1998). Turtles, frogs, and toads are small-bodied and relatively slow-moving species, which can make them a predictable and easily procured resource and one suitable to exploitation by a wider range of people within the social group, including young children. Fish and waterfowl add to the impression that a mix of techniques and personnel was involved in exploiting animals at Allen. Features Animal bone was associated with 24 features at the Allen site. Ideally, features represent small windows into past human behavior, indicating particular sets of activities associated in a relatively short span of time.

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 219

This may be less true at the Allen site, given the interpretation that much of the deposit represents superimposed dump zones built up over multiple occupations (see chapter 9). However, hearth-associated debris may indicate in situ behavior, and large areal surface scatters may indicate relatively short periods of discard; both types of features were described in the field notes of the original excavators. Thirteen of the 24 features that produced bone were identified as hearths. The other features are described either as scatters of bone associated with lithic scatters or as isolated items or small clusters of bone. Attributes of the associated faunal assemblages are presented in Table 12.11. In most cases the NISP per feature is quite small (NISP of 1 to 13). There are, however, five features designated as scatters on the surface of OL 1 that have relatively high numbers of associated bone fragments (NISP of 31 to 89). Features with associated bone appear in all three strata. The discussion below describes the associated bone, grouping the features by apparent type (hearth or surface scatter) and temporal association (OL 1, IZ, and OL 2). Given the small NISP per feature, this discussion focuses on qualitative aspects. The tabled data include the taxa represented, the elements and MNI per taxon, the types of cultural modifications observed, and the indications of postdepositional factors such as weathering and gnawing by rodents and carnivores. These provide some indication of the kinds of animals exploited, which animals were used at the same time, whether multiple animals contributed, whether there was patterned use of particular parts of animals, the kinds of butchering/cooking or tool manufacture/use that occurred, and the types of taphonomic processes at work. Hearth Features In OL 1, there were seven hearths with associated bone. Very few bones were associated with any one hearth (NISP of 1 to 4). One case (Feature 11) consists only of unburned small fauna, snake and vole, and the bone likely represents noncultural background noise. One case (Feature 10) suggests that two or three game animals were cooked and eaten near the hearth (a

pronghorn, a young deer, and a cottontail) and activities involving a bone awl were carried out nearby. The remaining OL 1 hearths suggest single meals, one of turtle and four of bison. Both high- and low-utility elements of bison are represented, suggesting a kill location near the camp. In two cases the bone was left exposed on the surface after abandonment long enough to be weathered or gnawed upon by rodents (Features 10 and 23). In IZ, there were two hearths with associated bone. One has a single unmodified bison rib; the other has a burned bison rib in association with four fragments of weathered but unburned bison mandible. Either of these small assemblages could represent a brief butchering episode. In OL 2, there were four hearths with associated bone. As is true for OL 1, very few bones are associated with any one hearth (NISP of 1 to 13). Four hearths have associated bison bone, with rib and cranial fragments represented. Some are burned, and some are not; these may represent butchering and consumption events. One hearth (Feature 8) has only vole remains, all cranial elements, most of which are burned. Two species of voles are represented, the prairie vole and the meadow vole. As the former prefers drier grasslands, it may have come from the adjacent uplands, rather than the immediate vicinity of the site. Their very small size typically leads to the assumption that they become part of a site deposit as a result of natural rather than cultural means. In this case, as all mandibles are burned and associated with a hearth, the possibility of cultural behaviors, such as the discard of pests or the hunting games of children, can also be entertained. One hearth (Feature 5) is similar to Feature 10 in OL 1, with multiple taxa represented, including both large game (deer) and small game (jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog). The smaller animals are burned, and the large game includes both high- and low-utility elements. The overall pattern for hearth-related bone appears consistent over time. The NISP is always small, suggesting relatively short-term use. The majority of the hearths are associated with a few bison bones. Two hearths, one in OL 1 and one in OL 2, suggest a somewhat longer use, with different hunting strategies employed, ones

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Table 12.11: Features with Animal Bone, Grouped by Feature Type (Hearth or Scatter) and Stratum or Temporal Zone Feature # Type Stratum Taxon NISP MNI Elements

Cultural Modification

6 hearth Occupation 1 turtle 2 1 carapace Level (OL)

burned = 1 cut = 1

10 hearth OL 1 deer 1 1 cranial burned = 1 pronghorn 1 1 cranial burned = 1 deer/pronghorn 1 limb shaft tool (awl) = 1 cottontail 1 1 cranial = 4 = 3 11 hearth OL 1 vole snake

2 1 = 3

1 1 =2

Natural Modification

weather = 1

Comments

Blanding’s turtle (E.b.) deer <1.5 years

rodent = 1 = 2 exposed

cranial vertebra

23 hearth OL 1 bison 1 1 rib weather = 1

natural deposit?

splintered, Stage 4 biface, exposure of 6 years +

29

hearth

OL 1

bison

1

1

humerus

burned = 1

weather = 1

small adult bison

32

hearth

OL 1

bison

1

1

cranial

burned = 1

weather = 1

adult bison, 5.5–9.5 years

34

hearth

OL 1

bison

1

1

metacarpal

Intermediate Zone (IZ)

bison

1

1

rib

22 hearth

33 hearth IZ bison

1 4 1 =5

rib cranial

burned = 1

burned =1 tool? = 1

weather = 2

5 hearth OL 2 deer 1 1 cranial weather = 1 1 metapodial burned = 1 deer/pronghorn 1 femur burned = 1 jackrabbit 1 1 cranial burned =1 1 metatarsal burned = 1 cottontail 1 1 humerus burned = 1 1 1 femur burned = 1 1 tibia burned = 1 prairie dog 4 2 cranial burned = 4 vole 1 1 cranial burned = 1 = 13 = 6 = 12 burned 8 hearth OL 2 vole 4 2 cranial burned = 3 weather = 2 9 hearth OL 2 bison 1 1 cranial burned = 1 17 hearth OL 2 bison large mammal

1 1 1 = 2 = 1

7 scatter OL 1 bison cottontail prairie dog

1 1 1 1 1 1 1 = 4 = 3

adult bison

adult cottontail adult prairie dog prairie vole (M.o.) 2 vole species: prairie vole (M.o.); meadow vole (M.p.) large adult bison, age 4.5 years or more

rib undifferentiated cranial limb shaft cranial burned = 1 cranial burned = 1

rodent = 1 (continued)

Faunal Evidence for Subsistence and Settlement Patterns / 221

(continued)

Table 12.11: Features with Animal Bone, Grouped by Feature Type (Hearth or Scatter) and Stratum or Temporal Zone

Feature # Type Stratum Taxon NISP MNI Elements

Cultural Modification

Natural Modification

12 scatter OL 1 bison 51 3 mixed burned = 23 cut = 4 carnivore = 3 deer 6 1 mixed burned = 6 pronghorn 1 1 cranial burned = 1 jackrabbit 5 1 mixed burned = 4 cottontail 1 1 scapula prairie dog 2 2 cranial burned = 1 mouse 1 1 cranial burned = 1 = 67 = 10 = 37 burned

weather = 13 rodent = 5

13 scatter OL 1 bison 16 1 mixed deer 2 1 mixed deer/pronghorn 3 rib fox 1 1 cranial badger 1 1 cranial jackrabbit 7 2 mixed prairie dog 1 1 cranial bald eagle 1 1 ulna (left) = 38 = 9 14

scatter

OL 1

bison

1

1

Comments

rodent = 1 burned = 1 = 22 exposed

burned = 5 rodent = 1 cut = 2 weather = 5 burned = 2 weather = 1 burned = 2 rodent =1 weather = 1 burned = 1 burned = 1 burned = 7 carnivore = 1 burned = 1 burned = 1 rodent = 1 cut = 1 = 26 burned = 12 exposed

one immature bison one 10.5 years + whitetail deer

subadult eagle

cranial

16 scatter OL 1 bison 18 2 mixed burned = 9 rodent = 3 cut/chop = 12 weather = 5 tool? = 1 coyote 1 1 metatarsal burned = 1 badger 1 1 pelvis burned = 1 cut = 1 jackrabbit 6 1 mixed burned = 6 cottontail 4 1 mixed burned = 3 prairie dog 1 1 cranial burned = 1 = 31 = 7 = 21 burned = 8 exposed 18 scatter OL 1 bison 31 5 mixed burned = 23 rodent = 7 cut/chop = 8 weather = 8 tool? = 2 deer/pronghorn 2 1 vertebra jackrabbit 12 2 mixed burned = 12 rodent = 1 cottontail 6 1 mixed burned = 5 cut = 1 prairie dog 2 1 mixed burned = 2 vole 2 1 cranial burned = 2 turtle 11 2 carapace burned = 5 = 60 = 13 = 49 burned = 16 exposed

bison ages: immature; 10.5 years +

blacktail jackrabbit 2 cottontail species: desert; eastern

whitetail jackrabbit

prairie vole 2 turtle species: box turtle; Blanding’s

(continued)

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(continued)

Table 12.11: Features with Animal Bone, Grouped by Feature Type (Hearth or Scatter) and Stratum or Temporal Zone

Feature # Type Stratum Taxon NISP MNI Elements

Cultural Modification

Natural Modification

Comments

21 scatter OL 1 bison 2 1 mixed burned = 2 weather = 1 jackrabbit 6 1 mixed burned = 5 cottontail 3 1 scapula vole 4 1 cranial burned = 4 = 15 = 4 = 14 burned

carnivore = 1

adult bison

burned = 3 = 2 exposed

28 scatter OL 1 bison 57 7 mixed burned = 34 rodent = 9 deer 8 3 mixed burned = 7 rodent = 2 weather = 2 pronghorn 1 1 vertebra burned = 1 deer/pronghorn 2 mixed burned = 1 weather = 1 coyote 1 1 scapula burned = 1 cut = 1 (skin) carnivore = 1 jackrabbit 16 2 mixed burned = 14 cottontail 3 1 mixed burned = 1 cut = 1 prairie dog 4 1 mixed burned = 4 frog 1 1 ilium burned = 1 = 89 = 17 = 64 burned = 38 exposed 2

scatter

OL 2

coyote/dog

1

1

cranial

3 1 1 1 = 6

1 mixed 1 vertebra 1 pelvis 1 phalanx = 4

whitetail deer. Deer ages include: 1.75–2.5 years, 4.5–5.5 years, –7.5 years rodent = 1 whitetail jackrabbit desert cottontail leopard frog

burned = 1

3 scatter OL 2 deer 1 1 cranial burned = 1 weather = 1 25 scatter OL 2 bison deer cottontail goose

bison ages include: fetal, 0.5 years, 0.5–1.5 years, 2.5 years, 4.5 years, 5.5–9.5 years, 10.5 years +

burned = 3 burned = 1 burned = 1 burned = 1 = 6 burned

whitetail deer, 4.5–7.5 years

weather = 2

Note: NISP = number of identified specimens, MNI = minimum number of individuals. This table presents a complex set of variables. The following guidelines explain its organization. Common names have been used; these may be translated into scientific nomenclature using Table 12.1. When reading across, the NISP values refer to the aligned taxon and element. NISP values are summed per feature. MNI values are listed once per taxon and are not necessarily aligned with the elements involved in their calculation. MNI values are based on unique elements, taking side and age into account. MNI values are summed per feature. Cultural and natural modifications are tallied per taxon. The total NISP for burned bone is summed per feature. The total number of incidences of natural modification is summed per feature as evidence of postdepositional exposure; the number of incidences may exceed the NISP, given the possibility of multiple types of natural modification per fragment of bone. Comments provide additional information about which particular species or ages of the animal are represented; these are aligned per taxon. In summarizing the original descriptions of burning made by Hamblin, the categories of burned and charred were included in the count of burned bone. In summarizing the original descriptions of butchering marks made by Hamblin, the categories of cut, chopped, skinned, and battered were included. In summarizing the original descriptions of weathering made by Hamblin, the categories of abraded, eroded, fragmented, weathered, cracked, very worn, edges worn, and splintered were included in the count of weathered bone.

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that do not include bison but do include a mix of large and small game. This in turn hints at the possibility that the Allen site served various functions in the regional settlement system, some very short-term and focused on bison hunting and others of somewhat longer duration when alternative game was sought. Based on the original descriptions of the features during excavation, a further distinction can be made among the hearths. The excavation notes distinguish between well-defined hearths that appear to have been used intensively, resulting in concentric rings of buff, red, and compact dark soils surrounding an often sterile ash core, and more ephemeral hearths, interpreted as the product of short-term use, resulting in a less-defined dark stain. Well-defined hearths with associated bone include Features 6, 8, 9, 10, 11, 22, 23, 32, and 34. Ephemeral hearths with associated bone include Features 5, 17, 29, and 33. There are additional hearths of both types that lack associated bone. Given ethnoarchaeological observations of longterm versus short-term forager camps, one might expect that the more intensively used hearths would be associated with greater amounts of bone, higher MNI values, and more diverse sets of taxa. Interestingly, there is little apparent difference in the faunal assemblages directly associated with the two types of hearths. The dominant pattern in both cases is that very little bone is directly associated and that it can typically be attributed to a single animal carcass, with bison the most common taxon. One additional factor to be considered is the distinction made between hearth features and scatter features. The excavation notes include observations of spatial associations between particular hearths and particular scatters. These include the association of hearth features 6 and 10 with scatter feature 7, the association of hearth feature 11 with scatter features 12 and 13, and the association of hearth features 30 and 31 (well-defined hearths lacking associated bone) with scatter feature 21. All three of the associations noted by the excavators involve well-defined hearths. This type of association fits well with ethnoarchaeological expectations, incorporating either an adjacent toss zone or the kind of dump zone typical of longer-term

occupations (David and Kramer 2001; Gamble and Boismier 1991; Kroll and Price 1991; Yellen 1977). If these associations of well-defined hearths and surface scatters are used to define a potentially contemporaneous deposition of faunal remains, functional variations in the use of the Allen site can be reexamined. Scatter features are discussed below. Scatter Features In OL 1 there are eight numbered scatter features. For one of these, Feature 14, the faunal database lists only a single bone fragment, an unmodified cranial piece from a bison. The original excavation record for this feature lists some additional bone, including burned rodent and rabbit, in conjunction with a variety of lithic debris scattered in a rough semicircle. Feature 7 is also somewhat limited, with an NISP of 4, although this includes a surprising diversity of taxa, given the small sample, and has an MNI of 3. The remainder of the scatter features are more extensive, with NISP values between 15 and 89 and MNI values between 4 and 17 (see Table 12.11 for details). Many of these are associated with the surface of OL 1, and some of them appear to flow into each other, as described by the original excavators and illustrated in chapter 9. This suggests that the stability of the soil surface may have allowed the accumulation and overlap of several originally discrete occupations. An interesting aspect of these scatters, with the ambiguous exception of Feature 14 as noted above, is the taxonomic diversity they share, each scatter combining both large and small game animals. Bison and lagomorph (represented by jackrabbit, cottontail, or both) occur in all seven cases. Prairie dog occurs in six of the seven, and deer or pronghorn occurs in five of the seven. This redundant set of staples (bison, deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog) is echoed in the Allen faunal assemblage as a whole and in each of the separate occupation levels. As detailed in Table 12.11, jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog bone consistently show evidence of burning, as do the larger game animals, adding another line of evidence to the argument that these particular small fauna were part of the intended catch, rather

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than natural postoccupation inclusions. Cut marks are another line of evidence often used to distinguish cultural from natural bone. In the scatter features they are most abundant on bison bone, as might be expected given the greater butchering demands of large carcasses, but are recorded on various other animals, including cottontail. Several taxa are relatively rare but show evidence of intentional use in the form of butchering, burning, or both. These include coyote, fox, badger, two species of turtle, and bald eagle. The bald eagle is represented by a single wing element, an ulna, which is both cut and burned. One can do little more than speculate about its prehistoric purpose, but ethnohistoric accounts of many American Indian groups note that the wings of predatory birds such as eagles are often put to ritual use (Gilbert et al. 1981). The scatter features vary in the degree to which they show signs of exposure. In Table 12.11 incidences of surface weathering of the bone, carnivore gnaw marks, and rodent gnaw marks were combined as indicators of exposure to noncultural processes after discard. Ranked according to number of incidences per feature NISP, the scatters show decreasing degrees of exposure in the following order: Feature 28, 12, 13, 18, 16, 7, 21, and 14. Features 12 and 13 are quite similar to each other, as are the trio of Features 18, 16, and 7. If this ranking is interpreted as a temporal sequence, then the first scatter on the OL 1 surface would be Feature 28, possibly associated with hearth feature 29 along the eastern edge of the excavated deposit. This would be followed by Features 12 and 13 to the north, associated with hearth feature 11. This would be followed by a central spread combining a northern focal point in Feature 7, associated with hearth features 6 and 10, and a more central area including Features 18 and 16. Finally a fourth episode would be located to the south, involving Feature 21 and hearth features 30 and 31. These four possible occupation episodes can be further explored in terms of the clues provided by the fauna for the habitats exploited, the age profiles evidenced, and the body part distributions for the larger game animals. There is a redundant pattern of mixed large and small game and evidence that large game such

as bison and deer were processed on-site as whole carcasses. The number of animals exploited varies, from a high of 16 to a low of three, excluding voles and frogs from the count. This suggests repeated use of the site for periods of varying duration, with bison consistently supplemented by other game, both large and small. Features 28 and 29 in combination yield a faunal assemblage with at least seven bison of varying ages, from fetal to over 10 years, including three adults and four young animals. There are also three deer, including two adults and a subadult, and at least one pronghorn. The large game taxa are represented by both high- and low-utility elements, including upper limb bones, vertebrae, and ribs, as well as cranial elements and lower limb bones. For both bison and deer, this suggests that complete carcasses were brought to the site for butchering and consumption. The presence of whitetail jackrabbit and desert cottontail, as well as bison and pronghorn, suggests that the nearby upland grasslands were part of the hunting territory, and the presence of whitetail deer and leopard frog may indicate use of the immediate riparian habitat as well. Features 11, 12, and 13 in combination yield a faunal assemblage with at least two bison, one immature and one an adult of over 10 years, as well as at least one whitetail deer and one pronghorn. The bison and deer are both represented by a combination of highand low-utility elements, suggesting the butchering and consumption of complete carcasses at the site. The pronghorn is represented only by cranial elements. There are burned remains of jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog. Also present are fox and badger, represented only by cranial elements, and the left ulna of a subadult bald eagle, with cut and burn marks. Features 6, 7, 10, 16, and 18, in combination, yield a faunal assemblage of several bison, including one immature and one adult over 10 years old, as well as at least one young deer less than a year and a half old. At least one pronghorn is also represented. The deer and pronghorn elements are few but include both cranial and limb fragments. The bison is represented by both high- and low-utility elements, several of which show direct evidence of butchering in the form of cut and chop marks. Also present are jackrabbit, cottontail,

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prairie dog, and turtle. Both box turtle and Blanding’s turtle are represented by carapace fragments; only Blanding’s is burned. Features 21, 30, and 31, in combination, yield a small faunal assemblage with at least one adult bison, represented by a patella and a phalanx, as well as jackrabbit and cottontail. All taxa show sign of burning. In the IZ there were no scatter features with associated bone. This is compatible with the interpretation of the IZ deposit as a period of brief occupations and relatively rapid sediment deposition. In OL 2 scatter features are rare. Three have associated bone. Feature 2 consists of an isolated burned cranial fragment from a canid. Feature 3 has a single burned and weathered fragment of a deer skull. Feature 25 has an NISP of 6 and an MNI of 4. It includes bison, deer, cottontail, and Canadian goose, all of which are burned and two of which show signs of surface weathering. Summary of Features with Bone Features with associated bone include both hearths and surface scatters. The hearths include both ephemeral forms, interpreted as short-term use, and well-defined forms, interpreted as long-term use. The well-defined hearths are more frequently associated with surface scatters of bone, and these scatters suggest a redundant hunting strategy that mixed an emphasis on bison with the exploitation of other staples, such as deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog. Although discrete occupation scatters are not clearly defined, variations in degree of surface weathering of the bone reinforce the impression of overlapping sequential occupations of the site. Comparing hearths and scatters of all types, the associated faunal assemblages hint at occupations as brief as a single kill or meal, typically involving bison, or as long as several days or weeks, while over a dozen different kills of both large and small game were utilized. Conclusions This analysis of the vertebrate fauna from the Allen site examined the mixed nature of subsistence strategies at the site, including both large and small game and the changes in their importance over time. The role of

bison was examined in detail, considering the evidence of body part distribution and comparing Allen with contemporary sites to highlight the diverse ways in which Paleoindians of the Plains incorporated bison into their lives. The roles of deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, cottontail, prairie dog, and aquatic resources were also highlighted, with careful attention to the effects of taphonomic processes on faunal assemblages. Hearth and scatter features were evaluated and used as another line of evidence for the place of the Allen site in regional subsistence and settlement strategies. The result is an image of Allen as a campsite at which a variety of game was pursued and consumed by small multifamily groups, for periods as brief as a single day or as long as several weeks. There are three major temporal patterns in the exploitation of vertebrate fauna at the Allen site. One is the shift in the balance among the three major large game species—bison, deer, and pronghorn. Large game clearly supplied the bulk of the meat in the diet at Allen. During the earlier occupation, bison dominates. Over time there is an increased emphasis on deer and pronghorn. Put simply, the hunting of large game became more generalized. A second major pattern is the constant use of small game, especially jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog. These contribute even in the earliest occupation of the site, a time in which bison was clearly the primary focus of hunting. Their relative importance increases over time. As measured by number of identified specimens for the site as a whole, jackrabbit and cottontail together contribute 11.6 percent, quite comparable to bison’s 12.5 percent. This is especially intriguing given the recovery techniques used when the site was excavated in the late 1940s. The lack of fine-mesh screens is likely to have underrepresented small animals in general (Shaffer and Sanchez 1994), yet small fauna constitute over 30 percent of the assemblage by NISP. Small animals are sometimes assumed to be noncultural additions to archaeological deposits. At the Allen site, the presence of butchery marks and burning argues against this assumption, especially where jackrabbits, cottontails, and prairie dogs are concerned. Small game may have served as a background staple, contributing

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small but steady amounts to the diet, a subsistence strategy that has been documented for many ethnographically known foraging groups. A third temporal pattern at the Allen site is seen in the simple relative abundance of bone. The sample is much larger for the earlier occupation, suggesting a more intensive early use of the site, changing to more occasional use, either by smaller groups or for shorter periods of time. These three patterns combine to create an overall impression of an increasingly generalized and increasingly mobile subsistence strategy at the Allen site. There was knowledge of and use of a diverse set of resources, including aquatic fauna as well as small terrestrial game, even in the early occupation, but they were relied on

to a much greater extent in the later occupation, as site use became briefer or more sporadic. Zooarchaeological analysis thus suggests that (1) both large and small game were important throughout the occupational sequence, (2) an early focus on bison hunting was replaced by a more mixed strategy, and (3) site use included both very short-term and somewhat longer-duration camps, possibly in different seasons of the year. The importance of bison, especially in the earliest occupation level, is not a surprise and provides additional evidence for how these large mammals fit in the subsistence and settlement strategies of the time. The role of deer, pronghorn, jackrabbit, cottontail, prairie dog, and other fauna at Allen adds to a fuller picture of Paleoindian life on the Plains.

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Synthesis Paleoindian Occupation of the Allen Site

Douglas B. Bamforth The locality archaeologists now refer to as “the Allen site” was part of a real place where real people lived out parts of their lives over most of the interval we call the Paleoindian period. Previous chapters have explored the environment of this locality and the evidence that the people who lived there left behind. This chapter steps back from the detailed focus of these explorations to consider the overall environmental and archaeological data in relation to three larger issues that bear on the lives of the site’s ancient inhabitants. First, it discusses the pattern of spatial variation and temporal change in the terminal Pleistocene/Early Holocene Medicine Creek environment: what was Medicine Creek like as a place to live in? Second, with this in mind, it turns to consider what the Allen site was in human terms: what place did it hold in the larger lives of the people who lived there? Third, it addresses the central problem that structured this research: how did Paleoindian groups on the West-Central Plains respond to temporal changes in the environment around them? Paleoenvironmental Summary May’s geomorphological work provides an essential frame for the other lines of environmental data. Throughout the Medicine and Lime creek drainages, the Paleoindian period saw an accumulation of sediment as the result of low-energy flooding along the main axis of Medicine Creek and downslope/colluvial sedimentation. These processes operated differently in the various sites studied here, a point that highlights the value of this project’s emphasis on the study of

multiple sites within the local study area. Along Medicine Creek itself, sediments accumulated relatively continuously, first as a result primarily of relatively low-energy overbank flooding and later primarily as a result of the downslope erosion of adjacent hillslopes. Evidence at the Allen site and at the Medicine Creek cutbank indicates that this accumulation was interrupted twice by periods of surface stability and soil formation, once for several centuries at approximately 10,500 B.C. and once for a shorter period of time at approximately 7700 B.C. Sediment accumulation in the narrower Lime Creek Valley was more episodic and resulted primarily from substantial rainstorms and subsequent floods; periods of surface stability were more episodic moving up Lime Creek. Data specific to conditions at the Allen site itself are limited. Zalucha’s study of charcoal from the site concludes that the site vicinity was more heavily wooded than in recent times and in particular that deciduous trees were locally abundant (although it is not likely that the valley supported anything like a closed gallery forest). G. Corner (curator of paleontology, Nebraska State Museum, personal communication, 2000) also notes both that the Allen site fauna consist almost entirely of species that are local to the Medicine Creek area today and that the species composition of the fauna is almost unchanged over the course of the site’s occupation. This latter observation also implies a fairly stable environment in the immediate site area throughout the Early Holocene. Pollen and phytolith studies at the Medicine Creek cutbank add some detail to this. Like Zalucha, Cummings, Moutoux, and

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Bryson reconstruct the floodplain and terrace vegetation along Medicine Creek as fairly well wooded, with a diverse array of both deciduous and nondeciduous species present, along with a fairly rich understory of brush and grasses, including much higher frequencies of tall grasses than have existed in recent times. Vegetation on the uplands adjacent to the valley is less clear but appears to have been mixed grasses. Warren’s analysis of mussel shells recovered from the site indicates that, during the period of human occupation of the Allen site, Medicine Creek appears to have been a permanent stream flowing within a relatively broad valley, meandering across a floodplain marked by backwater ponds. Data from sites along Lime Creek, away from the main axis of Medicine Creek, differ from this in important ways. Differences in the relative frequencies of general classes of phytoliths at the various sites show the clearest evidence for local environmental differences. In particular, the two sites farthest from Medicine Creek (Stafford and Red Smoke) show both the lowest frequencies of festucoid phytoliths, indicative of grasses that prefer cooler, moister conditions, and the highest frequencies of chloridoid phytoliths, indicative of grasses that prefer warmer, drier conditions: overall, these sites show roughly 20 percent festucoid forms and 35 to 40 percent chloridoid forms throughout the Paleoindian period, compared with nearly 30 percent festucoid and 35 percent chloridoid at Lime Creek and 40 percent festucoid and 30 percent chloridoid on Medicine Creek itself at the same time. Frequencies of panicoid forms, indicating grasses that prefer warm but wet conditions, tend to be in the 10 to 15 percent range at all sites but Lime Creek, where they average roughly 25 percent. The specific locale investigated at this site, then, may represent a marshier, or at least wetter, microenvironment within the drainage, as Wedel (1986:69) suggests. Geomorphic work by Conyers (2000) indicates that Lime Creek actually ran through the excavated area at the Lime Creek site when the site was occupied, and this is also consistent with the phytolith data. The deterioration of the pollen in the Lime Creek and Medicine Creek cutbank samples makes it more

difficult to compare the data from these sites with those from Stafford and Red Smoke, but there are hints of differences among these sites that parallel the phytolith evidence. In particular, identifiable arboreal pollen other than that produced by pine and juniper is rare or absent at Red Smoke and Stafford but is present, although in small amounts, at the other two sites. This implies that deciduous trees were concentrated in the better-watered downstream portions of Lime Creek and in the vicinity of Medicine Creek, whereas pine and juniper were concentrated in the upper reaches of the tributary drainages and, perhaps, along the drier edges of the main drainage. Overall, conditions thus seem to have been increasingly drier moving away from Medicine Creek, and vegetation may have been particularly sparse in the upper reaches of tributary streams like Lime Creek, where rapid and frequent deposition of sediments (as indicated at the Stafford site) may have inhibited local plant growth. Although much of this pattern persisted through the period during which people occupied the Allen site, the evidence also indicates important overall patterns of environmental change. The phytolith data throughout the study area show a steady, albeit sometimes small, increase in warm-season grasses throughout the Paleoindian period, implying a steady increase in summer temperatures, although even the latest periods examined here show far lower frequencies of warmseason/short grass forms than are found in the modern sediments in the region. The pollen data also show what appears to be a significant shift in the seasonality of precipitation, from a possibly more even distribution of rainfall in the lower levels of the Red Smoke and Stafford site sequences to a distribution characterized by spring/summer downpours, which were often heavy enough to produce local floods. This last pattern is characteristic of the modern Medicine Creek environment, and the data imply that a similar seasonal pattern of precipitation was established in the region during Paleoindian times. There are two notable inconsistencies in the paleoenvironmental world reported here. First, the carbon isotope data reported by May indicate a somewhat different pattern of change in the proportions of

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C3 and C4 vegetation than do the phytolith data reported by Cummings, Moutoux, and Bryson. However, the overall trend toward increasing proportions of warm-season plants in the drainage during the Late Pleistocene and Early Holocene is evident in both bodies of data, and it may be that the minor changes recorded in the phytolith sequence are simply too small to be resolved by the isotope ratios. This is a particular problem because carbon isotopes on soil samples record the photosynthetic pathways of all vegetation contributing to the formation of the soil, whereas the phytoliths analyzed by Cummings, Moutoux, and Bryson derive only from grasses; changes in the kinds and proportions of shrubs and trees, then, will alter overall carbon isotopes but will not be reflected in the phytoliths, potentially masking directional changes in the grasses. Second, Warren’s analysis of the mussel shell from the site offers fairly strong evidence for significantly higher discharge rates in Medicine Creek during the Early Holocene than the Late Holocene; in contrast, the climatic models examined by Cummings et al. reconstruct a substantial drop in stream discharge in the Late Pleistocene with a minor increase over time during the Holocene as a whole. Warren’s observations reflect data specific to conditions in the study area and seem preferable here. The model results derive primarily from assessments of the ways in which large-scale climatic patterns may have been manifest in local areas, implying that they may neglect important nonclimatic local factors: a high Early Holocene water table, for example, might have made a significantly larger contribution to the flow of water in Medicine Creek that was not available later. The data thus indicate that the kinds of long-term, large-scale regional changes seen elsewhere on the Plains—generally, a shift over time toward warmer, drier, and more seasonal conditions (i.e., Adams and Faure 1997; Baker et al. 2000; Fredlund and Tieszen 1997; Graham et al. 1987; Holliday 1995b; Johnson 1987; Johnson and Willey 2000; Muhs et al. 1999)—are evident at Medicine Creek. Integrating the Medicine Creek evidence in detail with the wider body of data on terminal Pleistocene/Early Holocene climatic and

other environmental change is complex: it seems increasingly clear that the trend just noted fluctuated in time and that the specific character of the environment and the way long-term temporal trends were manifest on the ground varied widely from place to place (cf. Haynes 1991; Holliday 2000b; Meltzer 2006; Muniz 2005). In addition, although sequences of change can be traced relatively easily in localities where paleoenvironmental indicators can be placed within a physically continuous stratigraphic sequence, correlating such local sequences over large areas generally depends on radiocarbon dates. A series of plateaus in the radiocarbon calibration curve, particularly between 10,600 and 10,000 RCYBP (Stuiver et al. 1998a), blurs such correlations significantly. For present purposes, though, the data highlight two important issues: the local pattern of environmental change and stability in the immediate Medicine Creek region and the place of Medicine Creek in the larger regional pattern of environmental change in the larger region around the drainage. At least along Medicine Creek itself, the effects of the larger temporal pattern of change appear to have been less pronounced than elsewhere: though conditions were likely changing notably in areas away from the main drainage (for example, on the open grassy uplands and in the upper portions of Lime Creek), conditions in the main valley seem to have been quite stable, probably because of the mitigating effects of the permanent flow of water in Medicine Creek and the lower portions of Lime Creek. The Paleoindian occupants of the Allen site therefore inhabited a general area that was subject to a similar set of environmental changes to those seen elsewhere on the Plains but had access to a locality that was buffered against these changes. Long-term changes like those that characterized the Paleoindian period, though, do not produce identical outcomes in all parts of a region as vast as the Great Plains. Muniz (2005:121–166, 467–475) synthesizes regional paleoenvironmental data for the WestCentral and Northwestern Plains over much of the period considered here, and the regional patterns that he documents help to place the Medicine Creek data in a geographic as well as a temporal context.

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Muniz focuses on the period from roughly 9500 to 7000 B.C., examining environmental indicators (including fossil insects, macrobotanical remains, pollen and phytoliths, mammalian biogeography, and geomorphology) from a total of 38 archaeological sites and other localities from an area extending from the central and southern Rocky Mountains out onto the Plains of Kansas and Nebraska. His data clearly show the increasing overall aridity of the Early Holocene but also show two important geographic patterns. First, general regional increases in aridity had much more pronounced effects on local environments in more western areas than in more eastern areas. This is clearest in patterns of dune activation: dune fields in Wyoming, western Nebraska, and northeastern Colorado show definite evidence of vegetation loss and the subsequent formation of active dunes, whereas similar fields in central Nebraska and Kansas do not show this, and this pattern is particularly pronounced after roughly 8100 B.C. Moving across the Plains, then, local environments were likely changed more dramatically and perhaps more adversely (at least in terms of human subsistence potential) in the west than in the east. Muniz (2005:161–166) suggests that one response to this may have been for Paleoindian groups (specifically Cody groups) to largely abandon many of the worstaffected areas of the Western Plains in the later parts of the period he examines. Second, throughout the period he examines there is a noticeable mosaic pattern of variation, with specific points on the landscape showing specific conditions that presumably reflect regional climate and such local factors as elevation, proximity to permanent water, shelter from prevailing wind, and others. Medicine Creek is roughly midway across the Plains; Muniz’s data indicate that the effects of Early Holocene climatic change were more pronounced to the west of the drainage than to the east (although, again, change is evident throughout the region). The region around Medicine Creek certainly differed significantly from those areas of the Plains that have produced the bulk of the Paleoindian database, particularly the northwestern and southern High Plains. The Medicine Creek drainage itself appears to have

combined some of the characteristics, and probably the resources, of the more open western grasslands and more wooded eastern regions, and the local habitat appears to have been buffered from much of the effects of Early Holocene environmental change, probably because of the constant flow of water in the creek. One important implication of this pattern is that the drainage must have formed a more or less unchanging ribbon of riparian habitat within a region that was probably experiencing significant changes in upland conditions, changes that likely reduced regional forage production and faunal biomass (Bamforth 1988a). Coupled with the abundance of flakeable stone that outcrops at Medicine Creek, the drainage must have been an attractive locale for human occupation: in the regional mosaic that existed on the Plains, Medicine Creek was thus likely to have been a particularly attractive place, and this may have been increasingly so over time. This observation has important implications for human use of the Medicine Creek area, the focus of this report. Paleoindian Occupation at the Allen Site The central problem this volume addresses is what the archaeology of the Allen site tells us about Paleoindian responses to long-term environmental changes on the Great Plains. As chapter 9 shows, the site was occupied over and over again for roughly 3,500 years, and it is not possible to tease out from the data the remains generated in any single occupation: all assemblagelevel analyses thus inevitably focus on the aggregate results of an unknown number of separate uses of the site area. As has long been known (i.e., Binford 1982), a given point on a single landscape can be used more than once for very different purposes. With this limitation in mind, though, it is possible to examine the overall pattern of evidence and the possibility that this pattern changed over time. Paleoindian people at the Allen site built fires, prepared and cooked food, made tools, and manufactured a variety of items from a variety of materials using a range of stone and bone tools, including items that had to be sewn and so on. They also presumably socialized, played, communed with the supernatural, and

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Table 13.1: Frequencies of Artifacts (other than Flaked-Stone Tools and Debris), Bone, and Hearths by Archaeological Level at the Allen Site

Artifact



Occupation Level 1

Stratum Intermediate Zone

Hammerstone 6 5 Groundstone 5 2 Bone tool 49 34 Unmodified bone* 1,503 509 Hearth Lightly burned 1 1 Moderately/heavily burned 8 2

Occupation Level 2

1 1 11 309 4 4

* Includes bone identifiable at least to level of genus.

Table 13.2: Measures of Assemblage and Feature Change, Based on Counts in Tables 10.16 and 13.1

Change



Hammerstone/retouched piece Groundstone/retouched piece Bone tool/retouched piece Bone tool/all bone % lightly fired hearth

Stratum

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Occupation Level 2

0.04 0.04 0.35 0.03 11.11

0.06 0.02 0.24 0.06 33.33

0.03 0.03 0.34 0.03 50.00

probably grieved for their dead and disposed of them nearby. They appear to have hunted, trapped, and otherwise procured a wide variety of animals in the area around the site and carried all or parts of these animals back to the site area for processing. Most of us expect to encounter evidence of these kinds of activities in sites that were occupied as some kind of residential hub of the human use of a landscape, and this is the most straightforward interpretation of the overall Allen site data. Although it is possible that this overall pattern masks fundamental changes in the way the site was used over time, there is no evidence that this is so. The range of material that highlights the residential character of the site is present throughout the occupation: all levels of the site produced a range of stone tools, grinding stones, bone tools, and so forth. The presence of isolated individual human remains in multiple

levels of the site is further testament to similar kinds of use of the site over time. More specifically, the relative frequencies of many important classes of residential artifacts show no evidence of temporal change. Table 13.1 summarizes the numbers of hammerstones, groundstone, bone tools, unmodified bone, and hearths showing different degrees of firing for the three major levels at the site, using data presented in chapters 8, 11, and 12. Table 13.2 uses these data along with counts of retouched pieces in the lithic assemblage (from Table 10.16) to derive a series of general measures assessing the relative frequencies of these classes of artifacts along with the percentage of lightly fired hearths in each of these levels. These measures show two patterns. First, like the data on the composition of the lithic assemblage discussed in chapter 10 (also see below), the data

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on the hearths show a clear temporal pattern: although the absolute frequency of hearths varies irregularly from level to level (see chapter 9), there is an increase over time in the percentage of lightly burned hearths. Second, unlike the data on the lithic assemblage and the hearths, data on other kinds of artifacts do not show any temporal trends. The evidence in Table 13.2 thus implies that classes of artifacts other than flakedstone tools were discarded at a more or less constant rate relative to flaked-stone tools and relative to each other throughout the site occupation. The very limited variation in the lithic material from concentration to concentration and in the fauna associated with individual features (documented in chapters 10 and 12) also speak to a high degree of continuity in use of the site over time. Observing that the Allen site was used throughout its occupation as a camp, though, takes us only part of the way toward identifying its place in the overall pattern of Paleoindian use of the Great Plains landscape. This is particularly true because a highly differentiated pattern of use (like the one that Binford [1978a, 1978b, 1980, 1982, 1983] describes for the Nunamiut) can generate many functionally distinct kinds of “camps” occupied by many distinct kinds of social groups at different times of the year, for different lengths of time, and so on. The traditional view of Paleoindian lifeways on the Plains and elsewhere (see chapter 1) tends to minimize the importance of intersite variability: presumably, if there was little or no seasonal differentiation of activities, little or no geographic variation in lifeways, and a constant and repetitive pattern of locating and slaughtering herds of large game, we should see very limited variation in site contents. However, systematic comparisons of site contents and structure that might assess this possibility are rare. Lacking such comparisons, it is simply not possible to determine either how diverse Paleoindian sites actually are or how they fit together into an overall pattern of use of the landscape. Pronounced differences among the Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites highlight this problem. As Hicks (2002) and I (2002a) discuss in more detail, neither Lime Creek nor Red Smoke produced the range of material that is found at Allen: these sites contained

few hearths, a very limited range of flaked-stone tools dominated by production waste, and virtually no groundstone or bone tools. Both of these sites appear to have been used for a limited range of activities; Red Smoke in particular seems to have been primarily a workshop. The Paleoindian occupants of the Medicine Creek region thus distributed their activities across the landscape in a very structured way, with residential sites concentrated along the main axis of the creek and other activities carried out in more upland areas. Furthermore, the long histories of occupation at all three of the Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites imply that this pattern of land use persisted for essentially the entire Early Holocene and thus that Paleoindian settlement within the drainage was sensitive to differences in the landscape at an extremely local scale over thousands of years. Despite this diversity, though, there is no reason to suppose that people did not “camp” at all three of the Medicine Creek sites, at least in the sense that they slept, cooked, and ate at all of them. The existence of this kind of diversity at Medicine Creek implies there is also no reason to suppose that analogous diversity does not exist among Paleoindian sites in other regions. This implies that it is important to consider the kind of occupation represented by the Allen site in more detail. Who, How Many, When, How Long . . . ? Hunter-gatherer groups engaged in the activity we might call “camping” vary in their size, their age and gender composition, the range of activities they carry out at a particular locale and the length of time they stay there, the time of year they camp, and many other characteristics. Although the Paleoindian literature sometimes notes the existence of variability in sites that seem to be camps, there have been few attempts to examine this variability systematically; simply noting that it exists (i.e., Hofman 2002:407) tells us essentially nothing about what it means. To deal with the potential complexity of such variation, this discussion follows what I (in press) refer to as a “bottom-up” approach. In contrast to “topdown” approaches that assume that many aspects of hunter-gatherer ways of life are tightly and predictably

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interconnected (see, for example, my [1997] discussion of the supposed correlates of Binford’s [1980] forager-collector continuum), the approach followed here views hunter-gatherer lifeways as composed of sets of quasi-independent variables whose interrelations are complex, poorly known, and in need of both theoretical and empirical evaluation (also see Chatters 1987a). In this approach, it is necessary to define specific aspects of past human lifeways and to link these to specific aspects of the archaeological record, in order to build up a view of the past. Defining variables is critical to this approach. To take only one example, archaeologists often describe Paleoindian groups as being “more mobile” than later groups. However, “more mobile” can mean many things: a group can move its residence more often, move it a longer distance, move faster, move over the course of a year within a larger area, and so on, and all of these are likely to be manifest in the archaeological record in different ways. Studying specific variables archaeologically thus requires that we both define them as precisely as we can and link them to specific kinds of archaeological data, and this is often difficult: we are much better at studying some topics than others, implying that we may have access to much stronger evidence on some variables than on others. To make sense out of the kind of occupation that occurred at the Allen site, the remainder of this section examines six reasonably specific aspects of the things humans may have done there. Beyond observing that the site was a residential base, we can consider how the site’s occupants harvested the environment around them, the season of the year during which the site was occupied, how long groups occupied it, the composition of these groups, how large these groups were, and the extent of the area they habitually moved in. This discussion assesses the overall pattern evident at the site for each of these and then considers evidence for change in them over time. Harvesting the Medicine Creek Environment One of the most striking aspects of the Allen site collection is the remarkable range of species represented

in the faunal assemblage. There can be no doubt that the site’s occupants exploited a wide range of habitats, including the open uplands, the riparian zone along the creek, and the waters of Medicine Creek itself: Paleoindians at the site hunted bison, but they also gathered mussels and caught fish, albeit in small numbers. Overall, the faunal data show a mix of strong continuity and substantial change. Small game (particularly rabbits and prairie dogs) represent a stable proportion of the faunal assemblage throughout the period of site occupation, and the common recovery in all levels of very low-utility bones of large game (such as skulls) implies that the site occupants hunted very close by. However, Hudson (chapter 12) documents shifts over time in both species selection and body part representation. Specifically, the proportions of the large game species (bison, deer, and antelope) changed dramatically: bison dominates the assemblage in Occupation Level (OL) 1 but drops substantially in the upper two levels, where it is replaced by deer and antelope. At the same time, OL 1 shows a more complete selection of body parts for the large game than the later levels, suggesting more complete on-site carcass usage; the absence of high-utility body parts in the later levels may imply more off-site transport of food than previously. Overall, small mammals (rabbits and prairie dogs) remain a relatively constant portion of the collection throughout the occupation of the site. However, it is possible to identify an additional trend in these data. Table 13.3 estimates the rates at which individual animals in each of the six taxa that are best represented in the faunal assemblage (bison, deer, antelope, jackrabbit, cottontail, and prairie dog) accumulated in the site. Although varying rates of sediment deposition over time complicate direct comparisons of counts of objects from stratum to stratum, it is possible to approximate rates of artifact deposition by estimating how long each of the three major units of the site took to accumulate. May’s discussion (chapter 3) suggests that OL 1 and the Intermediate Zone (IZ) likely accumulated over approximately 1,300 calendar years, whereas OL 2 accumulated over approximately 900 calendar years. We can thus

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Table 13.3: Deposition Rates (Minimum Number of Individuals per Century) for Five Species of Mammals Eaten at the Allen Site and Ratios of Bison:Deer and Pronghorn, Large Mammals:Small Mammals, and Upland Species:Riparian Species Rate/Ratio

Stratum

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Deposition Rate Bison 0.92 0.23 Deer 0.38 0.31 Pronghorn 0.23 0.31 Jackrabbit 2.00 0.85 Cottontail 0.85 0.31 Prairie Dog 2.15 0.62 Ratio Bison:Deer + Pronghorn 1.50 0.38 Large Mammals:Small Mammals 0.28 0.48 Upland Species:Riparian Species 4.31 3.25

calculate deposition rates by dividing the total minimum number of individuals (MNI) per stratum (from Table 12.4) by the approximate number of centuries of sediment accumulation represented by that stratum (13 for OL 1 and IZ, nine for OL 2). These data clearly show the reduction in reliance on bison and also suggest a range of patterns of change for the other species. Three ratios help to make sense out of this variation: Table 13.3 also includes the ratio of bison to other large mammals (deer and pronghorn) and of large mammals (bison, deer, and pronghorn) to small mammals (rabbits and prairie dogs). The third ratio in Table 13.3 considers the fauna in terms of preferred habitat rather than by species or body size, dividing them into two groups (Jones et al. [1983] discuss these species). The first group includes species whose preferred habitat is dominated by the open upland grasslands and includes bison, pronghorn, jackrabbits, and prairie dogs. The second includes species who prefer habitats that provide more shelter, in the form of either more dissected terrain or denser vegetation. In the study area, such habitats would have been found in and along the Medicine Creek and Lime Creek drainages, where they varied from the wetter riparian areas along Medicine Creek itself to the drier and shrubbier middle, and perhaps upper, stretches of Lime Creek. Species that

Occupation Level 2

0.22 0.33 0.11 0.44 0.56 0.44 0.50 0.38 1.38

prefer habitats like these include both mule deer and whitetail deer and cottontail rabbits. These ratios, again, document a shift from the use of bison to the use of other large mammals over time. However, they most clearly show a pronounced shift away from reliance on upland species toward a reliance on species that are more likely to have been concentrated within or adjacent to the drainage itself (note that, although Table 13.3 provides data based on MNI, the same pattern is evident in the data on number of identified specimens [see Table 12.4]). Other aspects of the faunal data show a similar pattern, although they involve smaller samples of remains. For example, all of the fish remains with known stratigraphic provenience were recovered from IZ and OL 2 (Table 12.1), and mussel shell is overwhelmingly concentrated in these levels (Table 4.2). Similarly, although a wide variety of birds was recovered from the site, the most common are waterfowl (primarily geese), and the frequency of bone from these species increases dramatically above OL 1 (Table 12.1). This trend should not be overinterpreted— although the relative proportions of large mammals represented at the site changed in important ways over time, Hudson’s data on meat weight (Table 12.4) show that there can be little doubt that large mammals in the aggregate provided the overwhelming majority of the

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meat that was consumed there throughout the period of occupation. However, the evidence strongly indicates a discernable shift in habitat use over time, with greater use made of resources found in the riparian zone within the drainage, including aquatic resources with relatively low rates of return for the effort required to obtain and process them. Evidence for the exploitation of plant foods is far less clear, although the presence of grinding stones (including both handstones/manos and milling stones/ metates) in the assemblage suggests that small hard seeds may have been in the diet. Such seeds were available—the pollen data indicate that pine was available nearby, and the collection includes burned hackberry seeds, although these show no evidence of human processing and likely result from natural fires within the drainage—but we simply have no direct evidence that they were exploited. Assuming that some kinds of plant foods were ground on the stones in the collection, the constant rate of discard of these stones suggests that these foods held a constant place in the diet over time, but this conclusion verges on sheer speculation. Season of Site Occupation The various lines of evidence for the season(s) in which the Allen site was occupied indicate that it was predominantly used during warmer times of the year. The season at death of the mussel shells (chapter 5) is particularly clear in this context, but the tiny sample of fish vertebrae (n = 4) also shows evidence of warmseason procurement (A. Koch, personal communication, 1990; see Koch 1995). As Kay (1974) discusses, deer teeth can be sectioned to provide data on season of death, but such teeth from the Allen site proved to be too fragile for such a study. The presence of at least one bison fetus in OL 1 suggests a spring kill. Other aspects of the assemblage of bison bone are consistent with predominantly warm-season procurement, and Hudson (chapter 12) notes that the faunal data overall imply use of the site at many times of the year but are consistent with a largely late summer and early fall occupation. The fact that the most direct seasonal indicators derive from uncommon items in the collection (particularly fish bone and mussels) indicates that

overall seasonality estimates must be made cautiously (cf. Grayson and Thomas 1983). However, extensive occupation during the colder seasons of the year should have generated more unambiguous seasonal evidence; the balance of such evidence also implies a predominantly warm-season occupation. There is no evidence that this pattern changed over time: the range of direct and indirect seasonal indicators in the collection is present throughout the site. Duration of Occupation Several lines of evidence indicate that people tended to stay at the Allen site for fairly short periods of time. The first is the general character of the hearths found at the site. Although differences in size and degree of oxidation among these suggest that they did not all burn precisely the same way, the clarity of the shape of all of them implies that they were not used repeatedly or for very long periods of time (cf. Chatters 1987a). The likelihood that abandoned hearths would quickly have been overgrown with vegetation also implies that they were rarely, if ever, reused. This is consistent with Hudson’s discussion of the faunal remains from the site (chapter 12), which suggests that occupation at the site likely varied between a few days and a few weeks. Although none of these data provides a precise estimate of occupation duration, taken together they suggest that any single occupation of the site likely lasted for less than a month. Occupations of this length are also implied by the small number of cores, exhausted or otherwise, in the lithic assemblage. As appears to be the case elsewhere (i.e., Bamforth 1991c; Ingbar 1992), it is likely that the bifaces produced so frequently at the Allen site were intended for off-site use. Furthermore, although at least some of the debris from biface production can be used for at least some purposes, much of it is too small and too fragile to provide an effective cutting edge even for very soft materials, let alone an edge that can be used on harder materials. The core-based production of flakes specifically for use as tools was clearly a central component of the flaked-stone technology at the Allen site, as chapter 10 discusses. However, cores are extremely rare in the lithic assemblage, implying

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Table 13.4: Deposition Rates (Objects per Century) for Artifacts and Large and Small Mammals (Total Number of Identified Specimens) for Major Strata at the Allen Site Artifact/Mammal

Flaked-Stone Tools Debitage Bone Tools Large Mammals Small Mammals

Stratum

Occupation Level 1

Intermediate Zone

Occupation Level 2

10.92 346.85 2.85 223.92 47.46

6.31 246.08 2.46 36.39 15.92

3.56 373.33 0.89 20.00 13.67

that they were produced and probably used at the site but were then transported elsewhere (also see Bamforth and Becker 2000). Given regular reliance on core-struck flakes for tools that are likely to have been used in on-site tasks (including both the edgemodified flakes and the beveled tools), extended occupations should have produced exhausted cores. The fact that many cores seem to have been used onsite, but so few seem to have been used up, thus implies fairly short periods of site occupation. However, various lines of evidence suggest strongly that this “average” picture of occupation duration masks a significant decline in the length of time spent at the site over time. First, examining rates of deposition of archaeological material at the site, as discussed in a previous section, provides one way of examining changes in occupation duration over time. Table 13.4 thus presents “artifacts per year” for the categories of material that have reasonably large sample sizes and that are also unlikely to include noncultural material (this excludes the smallest species in the faunal assemblage, for example). In every case except that of unmodified flakes, rates of deposition of cultural material decrease sharply with time. The composition of the lithic assemblage also changes in ways that are consistent with shorter and shorter occupations over time. As chapter 10 shows, the overall trend in the Allen site data over time is for the lithic assemblage to include proportionately less and less residential debris and proportionately more and more debris from stone tool manufacture, particularly the earlier stages of biface and projectile point manufacture. The exceptions to this are cores,

which become relatively less common in the collection over time. The likelihood that cores were less extensively worked at the site over time no doubt reflects the reduction in manufacture of tools for on-site use, as it is clear that core-struck flakes were the primary category of blanks used for such tools. If the cores that were present at the site were used less and less over time, and thus were less likely to be discarded at the site, duration of site occupation should have decreased over time as well. The steady increase in lightly fired hearths is also consistent with this: such an increase implies fairly directly either that fires burned for shorter periods of time or that fireplaces tended to be reused less often. Similarly, Hudson (chapter 12) points out that the reduction in the frequency of higher-utility portions of bison in the upper levels of the site suggests that at least some of the products of local hunting were transported elsewhere during the later periods of occupation, a pattern that, again, suggests briefer use of the site than in earlier periods. Chapter 9 also suggests that the varying relative frequencies of hearths and artifacts in the upper levels of the site, in contrast to the more constant pattern in the lower levels, might imply a more irregular or unpredictable use of the site. The other Medicine Creek sites also show evidence of shorter periods of occupation over time (Bamforth 2002a), although this evidence is not as clear as the evidence from the Allen site. Although all levels at Lime Creek show limited evidence for residential activities, the Lime Creek lithic assemblage shows a slight increase in production debris in the uppermost

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level, suggesting a similar shift toward less and less residential use over time to that evident at the Allen site. The Red Smoke pattern is more complex. Although production debris dominates all levels in the site, it is less common in the uppermost levels. Although the assemblages from these levels are small, they also seem to include a more diverse range of material than those from the lower levels. The increased residential use of the site that these data (which are admittedly sparse; see Bamforth [2002a:Table 5]) suggest may result from the burial of nearby raw material sources by Early Holocene sediments or from a shift over time from a highly structured Paleoindian pattern of use of the Medicine Creek landscape to a more generalized Early Archaic pattern. However, the uppermost levels at Red Smoke produced extremely small assemblages, suggesting very brief periods of site occupation. Group Size and Composition There are no unambiguous indicators of the size of the groups that camped at the Allen site. In particular, although O’Connell (1987:80, 100–101) shows that both the number of hearths simultaneously in use and the size of the occupied area increase with group size, the artificial limits on the excavated area at the Allen site make it impossible to judge how large a given occupation may have been (although there is no doubt that the excavation exposed an area smaller than any of the camps O’Connell describes). However, we can suggest that the groups there may have been small throughout the period of site occupation or, at least, that they were smaller than other social groups that Paleoindians sometimes lived in. One line of evidence that is strongly consistent with this is the pattern of small-scale, small-group hunting that Hudson (chapter 12) documents. As Bement (1999:172–173) shows, even intensive butchery of small kills generates significantly less food than light butchery of large kills, implying that the hunters at the Allen site needed to supply notably smaller numbers of people than the hunters involved in large kills. In addition, I (1991a) have argued that the technical sophistication and stylistic homogeneity of the projectile point assemblages from large Paleoindian bison kill

sites likely reflect the manufacture of these points by a small number of highly skilled flint knappers, a pattern that might be expected as a relatively large group of people “geared up” for a hunt. It is clear that such hunts were not carried out continuously throughout the year (Bement 1999; Frison 1982; McCartney 1990; also see chapters 1 and 14), and fairly large aggregations of people were therefore probably not maintained year-round. In fact, the likely predominant season of occupation indicated at the Allen site, the warmer part of the year, neatly complements the predominantly cold-season pattern of large-scale Paleoindian bison hunting in the regions north and west of the site. Aspects of the Allen site data suggest that there may have been important regional differences among Paleoindian groups in different parts of the Plains, and it is dangerous to assume that the people who occupied the site necessarily participated in large-scale coldseason bison hunting (although the presence of points made from Smoky Hill jasper at the Jones-Miller site [Stanford 1978] suggests this possibility). However, the wide range of styles and technical sophistication of the Allen site points contrast sharply with the pattern evident in large bison kills and correspond to the pattern we might expect in a site occupied by smaller groups of people who either did not always include a highly skilled knapper or relied on a more socially dispersed pattern of tool production than may have been used in communal hunts. Inferring who these less skilled knappers might have been introduces a second issue: what kinds of people lived at the Allen site? The fact that a child was probably present on the site at least once makes it likely, although not absolutely certain, that the Allen site was occupied at least once by a family. Consistent with this, the wide range of knapping skill evident in the flaked-stone artifacts, particularly the points and point preforms (chapter 10; see Bamforth and Hicks n.d. for a more detailed discussion of this), is consistent with the presence on the site of both very experienced and novice stoneworkers; and, in a residential setting like the Allen site, novices are likely to have been early or midadolescents (and it is worth noting that the evidence for this contrasts strongly with that at Lime Creek,

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where evidence for novice stoneworking is extremely rare; Bamforth and Hicks n.d.). Although links between specific artifact classes and specific categories of people are inherently problematic, the overall diversity of material on the site is also consistent with occupation by similarly diverse groups of people, probably families, and the range of fauna in the site also hints at the presence of families. As Hudson notes (also see Kelly 1995:262–270), hunter-gatherer societies typically divide labor along age and sex lines, with large-mammal hunting virtually always the province of adult males and the hunting or other acquisition of other species sometimes carried out by men but more often carried out by women and children. If we are willing to assume a similar division of labor in Paleoindian society, the range of species taken at the site implies that it was occupied by men, women, and children. Evidence relevant to both of these topics is thus imperfect. However, the majority of this evidence shows no changes over time. The range of knapping skill, which suggests both that the residential groups were likely small and that they included juveniles, is evident in the lithic material from all levels of the site. Similarly, bearing in mind the changing size of the overall assemblage from the different levels of the site, there is no evidence for directional changes in the range of artifact types present, suggesting that a similarly wide range of people may have used the site over time, and a wide range of species is present in the fauna throughout the occupation. The one exception to this is in the reduction in numbers of animals brought back to the site that is suggested by the deposition rates in Table 13.4, which could imply that smaller groups used the site over time. However, a group whose size did not change would need less food if it stayed at the site for a shorter period, and the evidence strongly indicates that the groups that used the site did just this. The weight of the evidence, then, is most consistent with a constant group size over time. Geographic Scales of Land Use at Medicine Creek The primary evidence archaeologists use for estimating the scale of hunter-gatherer land use derives from

information on the geologic sources of material used to produce the artifacts recovered from a given site. Inferring use of the landscape from this kind of data is a more complex problem than much of the archaeological literature suggests (Brantingham 2003; Ingbar 1994; Meltzer 1989), and this problem is complicated here by the fact that it is not possible at present to distinguish varieties of the dominant variety of stone used at the Allen site—Smoky Hill jasper—that can be traced to specific outcrops within the region where this material occurs. However, the overall patterns in the data are very strong. Data are available here on the sources of stone used for grinding stones (chapter 11) and flaked-stone tools (chapter 10). The grinding stones discarded at the Allen site are made from stone that appears to be available no closer than 350–400 km away. If we infer that the stone used to make these implements was procured directly by the occupants of the site, it suggests movement over a very large area. Certainly, the fact that these pieces are uniformly heavily worn, resharpened, or broken suggests that they were “valuable,” if only in the sense that they were difficult to replace. Grinding stones are also relatively long use-life tools that could linger in a portable tool kit over extended periods of time. However, these artifacts are few and small; they can be accounted for as easily by exchange or as the result of episodic trips by individuals or very small groups (cf. MacDonald 1999) as they can by the movement of an entire social group. These are certainly evidence of some kind of contact with fairly distant areas, but they do not necessarily tell us what kind of contact they represent. The much larger data set available from the flaked stone assemblage is perhaps a better indicator of range size, and this paints a very different pattern than do the data on groundstone artifacts. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the Allen site lithic assemblage is its nearly total lack of nonlocal raw material: virtually all of the roughly 13,000 pieces of flaked stone in the collection are made from Smoky Hill jasper, which is available in bulk within the Medicine Creek drainage and otherwise can be found widely along the western edge of the Niobrara Formation in southwestern Nebraska and northwestern Kansas

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and, possibly in less easily flakeable forms, in eastern Nebraska (see chapter 10). Individual pieces of Smoky Hill jasper may have come from more distant quarries of this stone, but virtually every piece of this material in the collection can be matched with stone gathered within the drainage itself. Raw material from other distant sources is certainly present in the collection, including Alibates agate from the Texas panhandle, Madison chert from eastern Wyoming, and Nehawka chert from eastern Nebraska, but it is present in very, very small quantities. The absence of nonlocal stone in the collection is not because Paleoindian groups that lived at the Allen site carried in large numbers of exhausted tools from distant areas and retooled them elsewhere in the drainage: both Lime Creek and Red Smoke, workshops where tools might well have been repaired and implements from distant sources might have been discarded, show similar patterns to those at Allen. At Lime Creek, only five of 132 pieces of worked stone (3.8 percent) are made from material other than jasper (Hicks 2002:Table 4.18), and currently available information indicates that only about 17 of roughly 1,800 retouched pieces (0.01 percent) at Red Smoke are of nonlocal stone (Knudson 2002:102–116). The materials represented in these few items mirror those in the Allen site assemblage for the most part and include Madison chert at Lime Creek and Nehawka chert, Madison chert, and Alibates agate at Red Smoke. Both Lime Creek and Red Smoke also produced items made from White River silicates, found in northeastern Colorado, eastern Wyoming, and southwestern South Dakota (Hoard et al. 1993), and Red Smoke produced several artifacts from silicified wood, probably from northeastern Colorado. There is also one artifact from Red Smoke that appears to be of Edwards Plateau chert from central Texas, although avocational archaeologists in eastern Colorado have found examples of stone at geologic sources of White River material that are macroscopically indistinguishable from some varieties of Edwards chert (T. Westfall, personal communication, 2000). Most spectacularly, a single large, marginally retouched flake from Lime Creek is made from Bridger Basin chert (also called “tiger chert”), found in northwestern Colorado and

southwestern Wyoming, on the western side of the Rocky Mountains. As is true at Allen, exotics are present at both of these sites mainly as projectile points: three of the five nonjasper artifacts at Lime Creek are points (and the Bridger Basin chert artifact is probably a projectile point blank that was never made into a point), and 12 of the 17 known nonjasper artifacts at Red Smoke are points. These data have interesting implications for the way we look at the geographic scale of Paleoindian land use. As the introductory chapter notes, most studies of this topic focus on the materials used to produce projectile points and often infer that Paleoindian groups moved within breathtakingly large ranges. The Medicine Creek points might well be interpreted this way, suggesting movements within an area stretching from eastern Nebraska (Nehawka chert) to eastern Wyoming (Madison chert) and from central Nebraska (local gravels) to northern Texas (Alibates agate). Considering the points in the context of the rest of the collections, though, suggests that this is unlikely. Every other class of stone tool, including classes of discarded artifacts that must have been carried into the sites from elsewhere, is made exclusively or almost exclusively from local material. The Allen site exotics include a number of unmodified flakes, making it clear that some other form of nonlocal stone was once present at the site. However, most of these are flakes that were struck late in the production of well-made bifaces, probably unfinished points. It is fairly common to find different patterns of raw material use in points and other classes of artifacts from Paleoindian sites (Amick 1999; Bamforth 2002a); the Medicine Creek data are not unusual in this. Why might this be the case? Amick (1999) argues that this reflects a gendered division of labor, in which men traveled widely in search of bison, thereby gaining access to distant raw material sources from which they gathered stone to produce their weapon tips, while women moved more locally, gathering stone for the tools they needed closer to home. Amick’s arguments, though, depend on viewing Folsom groups as specialized bison hunters, which is problematic (see chapter 1). Alternatively, it is possible that projectile

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tips simply had much longer useful lives than other classes of tools and thus monitor past long-distance movements more effectively than other classes of tools. However, this seems unlikely. Experimental research on projectiles in general suggests that most kinds of stone projectile points need to be replaced after two– three casts (Cheshier and Kelly 2006), although similar research specifically on Folsom points suggests that they may last an average of five casts (Hunzicker 2005). Neither of these results suggests that a point would persist notably longer in the tool kit than many other kinds of tools, although specific comparative data are few (but see Shott and Sillitoe 2004). However, both of these possibilities assume that all or virtually all raw material used to produce stone tools of all kinds was obtained directly from its geologic source. A third possibility is that the raw material used for projectile points was often obtained in different ways than raw material used for the full range of Paleoindian tools. Paleoindian points show investments of time and production skill that are utterly unnecessary in utilitarian terms, suggesting that these artifacts and the ability to produce them carried some kind of special significance in Paleoindian society. If this is so, blanks of high-quality raw material intended for reduction into points and possibly other bifaces might have circulated widely among geographically distinct groups on the Plains and elsewhere, perhaps for social reasons. Such a pattern explains, for example, the Bridger Basin chert artifact at Lime Creek: the acquisition of this artifact by a direct group visit to its geologic source is perhaps physically possible but extremely unlikely. Paleoindian archaeologists rarely consider the role that raw material exchange might have played in structuring the composition of artifact assemblages: inferences of direct procurement and very large range sizes are the starting points for Paleoindian lithic analysis, not the ending points of systematic critical analysis. Meltzer’s (2006:292–293) discussion of the Folsom site assemblage is one of the few that specifically considers this issue. He argues on the basis of uniformity of artifact style and other factors that the raw material in that assemblage that occurs naturally

as much as 450 km away was procured directly, during group visits to the geologic source of this material. Two issues (both of which he acknowledges), though, suggest that we can look at this topic from a different perspective. First, Meltzer argues that there is limited stylistic diversity in the Folsom site points, which he argues is incompatible with the production of these points by widely scattered knappers and thus is evidence against exchange. However, this argument requires the assumption that points were exchanged in finished form, an assumption that is based only on plausible argumentation (see Hofman 1992:198 for a similar argument based largely on assumptions). Second, we might expect points made from stone obtained a great distance away to have been in use longer than points made from stone obtained more recently, and this should be evident in greater wear and tear on those points. However, neither the Folsom site collection nor other Folsom-period collections show more extensive resharpening of points made of more distant raw material than of less distant material (Meltzer 2006:281–282). It is plausible that finished points did move among Paleoindian groups; hunter-gatherers often exchange finished craft goods. However, hunter-gatherers also exchange unfinished artifacts and raw material that can be used to produce a variety of artifacts. We thus might also consider an equally plausible argument that the exchange of finished points is unlikely in the Paleoindian case: more than one Folsom archaeologist has suggested that the act of fluting itself was ritually or cognitively significant (Frison and Bradley 1982; Ingbar and Hofman 1999), which might imply that gifts or the exchange of blanks rather than finished points might have been particularly preferred during Folsom times. But we are not limited to plausible argument and assumption in this case: there is archaeological evidence of the form in which raw material traveled among Paleoindian groups. The Clovis-age Fenn cache (Frison and Bradley 1999) is a collection of 56 fluted points and bifaces, most of them unfinished. The cache’s original location is uncertain, but the materials from which these artifacts were made derive from an area extending from

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north-central Wyoming to southeastern Idaho and east-central Utah. Wear on the ridges of the artifacts in the Fenn cache indicates that they had been carried considerable distances in the form in which they were recovered. The degree of development of this wear does not correlate with the distance from the raw material sources to the area in which the cache was probably located, which is inconsistent with the possibility that the artifacts from each of the sources represented in the cache were acquired at the same time and transported as a group. Combinations of finished and unfinished bifaces and points are known from several other apparently Clovis-age caches; one such cache included only finished points (Frison 1991a). For the Folsom period, the widespread presence of channel flakes and discarded preforms made from stone from distant sources, and often very distant sources (i.e., Davis and Greiser 1992:226; Hester 1972; Huckell and Kilby 2002; Root 2000; William 2000; Wilmsen and Roberts 1984), leaves no doubt that unfinished points were transported long distances; indeed, such transport is central to the high-tech forager model. At Medicine Creek, the debitage in the Allen site assemblage from distant sources indicates that similarly mid-stage pieces from distant sources passed through the site. One artifact cannot stand for a Plains-wide pattern, but the single artifact made from Bridger Basin chert at the Lime Creek site leaves absolutely no doubt that stone traveled extremely long distances in almost unmodified form. Finally, like the Fenn cache, the Plainview-age Ryan’s site cache (Hartwell 1995) contained both finished points and unfinished blanks and preforms, with the latter artifacts far more numerous than the former. This cache was found just northwest of Lubbock, Texas, and includes artifacts made from stone from the northern Texas panhandle and central Texas. The data from Paleoindian caches are particularly important here: although these caches do contain finished points, unfinished pieces greatly outnumber these in almost all of the known cases, and this is particularly clear in the only post-Clovis cache. Furthermore, these caches mix together material from a variety of distant sources. The campsite data show that unfinished pieces that were essentially identical to those

found in the caches entered Paleoindian residential locales, where they were reduced into finished forms. Finished, unhafted points thus did move across the Plains and could have been passed from hand to hand. However, if the relative numbers of finished and unfinished pieces in the known caches reflect the numbers of similar artifacts in circulation, unfinished artifacts were potentially available for exchange far more often than finished artifacts were. Knowing that unfinished points traveled widely across the Plains, of course, does not tell us how they moved—it could have been through direct procurement and transport or though exchange. However, the patterns in the Fenn and Ryan’s site caches put the data indicating that degrees of resharpening of Folsom points do not vary with distance to source into a different light. One straightforward interpretation of these data is that blanks made of stone from a variety of distant sources were often obtained at the same time and thus entered the sequence of production, use, and resharpening together, resulting in the discard of very similar artifacts at the end of their useful lives. Caching of material that could be used in this way could represent the storage of material by people who had physically visited the sources of all of the materials these caches contain. However, it is just as likely that these caches represent exactly the kinds of sites that would support an extensive pattern of exchange of blanks and, sometimes, finished points. This suggests that, although the bulk of raw material used by Paleoindian groups for the kinds of everyday tools that dominate non–kill site assemblages was likely obtained directly from the source, some material, particularly material used for items that may have been linked to status, such as projectile points, may have been systematically exchanged. Following this possibility, the Allen site data, and the data from the other Medicine Creek sites, point to movements within the area of southwestern Nebraska and northwestern Kansas and social connections of some kind with neighboring groups extending from eastern Nebraska to eastern Wyoming in the north and south into the Southern Plains. Finally, the kinds and frequencies of nonlocal raw material in the site do not change from level to level.

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This is most markedly true for the flaked stone assemblage, which includes almost nothing but local material regardless of which level in the site we examine. If raw material usage measures the overall geographic scale of land use around the Allen site, it implies that people moved regularly within a relatively small region of the West-Central Plains throughout the period during which the site was occupied. The evidence from the other Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites shows an identical pattern. Summary/Synthesis The data obviously do not speak equally clearly to all of the topics just discussed. However, the variety of the evidence and the consistency of the patterns it shows are striking. The overall pattern of residential use of the site seems constant—there is no evidence for change in the general kind of occupation at the site, the season of occupation, or the size and composition of the groups that spent time there. There is also no evidence for change over time in the size of the larger landscape that the site’s occupants moved across. However, there is no doubt that Paleoindian foragers shifted their prey from bison and other upland species to other resources over time or that the groups these hunters were part of spent less and less time at the site over the course of the Early Holocene. The remainder of this chapter considers the links between these changes and the changing character of the Medicine Creek environment. Environment and Adaptive Change at Medicine Creek There are clear parallels between progressive changes in the Medicine Creek environment (and the environment of the wider Great Plains) and the ways of life outlined by the archaeological data from Allen and the other Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites. The immediate vicinity of Medicine Creek appears to have been buffered against much of the increasing aridity of the Early Holocene Plains environment, although the Medicine Creek data document the fact that this increase occurred in the region around the drainage. I (1988a, 1997) have argued that the Early Holocene

increases in aridity must have progressively reduced regional forage production and shifted the composition of the grasslands from more cool-season to more warm-season species. Ecological research among modern grazing animals indicates that such changes would have reduced overall animal populations and increased the unpredictability of animal movements; paleontological data (McDonald 1981; Smiley 1979) indicate that bison herd sizes also increased on the Plains over the Early Holocene—that is, that bison became more aggregated even as their overall numbers must have decreased over time. The role of plant food in the Paleoindian diet is poorly understood, but a progressive reduction in precipitation is likely to have reduced the overall range and abundance of these resources over time as well. Human groups could have responded to such a reduction in several ways. For example, they could invest in technological or social ways of harvesting their most important resources more intensively, or they could expand their diet to focus more heavily on relatively low-ranked resources. Alternatively, they could attempt to fit their local population to a reduced regional resource base by increasing the frequency of group movements or the size of the group’s territory to increase access to food-producing localities over a larger area. They could also reduce residential group size to reduce the amount of food they needed to obtain from a given locale. The data suggest that the Paleoindian occupants of the Medicine Creek area chose two of these options: they altered their diet, taking fewer upland resources, particularly bison, and more deer and other species that were concentrated within the Medicine Creek and Lime Creek drainages themselves; and they increased their frequency of residential group movement. As Hudson discusses, the progressive decrease in bison and increase in deer and antelope in the Allen site faunal assemblage likely represent a shift in prey in response to changes in the regional abundance of these different species, with the most pronounced change occurring in the transition from OL 1 to the Intermediate Zone. The overall shift in habitat use evident in the data includes reductions in the use of

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both large and small game, and this supports Hudson’s argument that it is unlikely that the shift away from bison reflects human overexploitation of this species. Instead, given the clear evidence of climatic change in the Medicine Creek region, this decrease is almost certainly the result of the well-known effects of increasing aridity on upland animal populations, particularly populations of large grazing animals (Bamforth 1988a). All three of the large mammal species in the faunal assemblage have high after-encounter return rates (Byers and Ugan 2005:Table 4), and all of them should have been taken when encountered; if any of these species became less frequent in the assemblage, it should then have been because hunters encountered them less often. Encounters with bison would likely have become less and less frequent as a progressive reduction in upland forage reduced total bison numbers and as warm-season herds became larger, more unpredictably mobile, and therefore more widely scattered on the landscape (Bamforth 1988a). However, deer and antelope would have experienced these changes in different ways: deer probably lived primarily in the relatively stable local riparian environment along Medicine Creek and Lime Creek, and the high mobility and lower food demands of antelope relative to bison, along with their ability to get along without standing water for extended periods of time, should have enabled them to forage more effectively than bison over large areas in the progressively deteriorating uplands (although their abundance, like that of the bison, would ultimately have been tied to upland forage production). Paleoindian foragers could thus have produced the trends evident in the largemammal data simply by continuously taking such mammals in proportion to their abundance in the local Medicine Creek area. Archaeologists have traditionally linked patterns of hunter-gatherer movement across the landscape primarily to spatial and temporal/seasonal patterns in the availability of food (i.e., Binford 1980; Stafford 1994; Thomas 1983; Zeanah 2004). Access to food is not the only factor conditioning the movements of mobile people (Bamforth 2006; Kelly 1995:120–148; McCabe 2000, 2004), but it is clearly one of the most important

of these factors, and changes like those evident in the Allen site fauna thus have potentially important implications for these patterns. Overall, and holding other things equal, mobile groups move more often when food is locally scarce than when food is locally abundant. Furthermore, studies focused on the aggregate diet of a group (i.e., Binford 1980) and on the differing foraging strategies of men and women (Zeanah 2004) converge in arguing that residential sites should be located close to resources that make the greatest contribution to the diet. The absence of reliable data on the role of plant food in the diet at Medicine Creek leaves important uncertainties in any assessment of the link between foraging and overall mobility there. However, the small number of tools that were likely used in processing plants at Medicine Creek (and in Paleoindian sites elsewhere on the Plains) suggests a limited dietary role for these resources: seeds, roots, greens, and fruits must have been eaten, but there is no evidence that they made up the large proportion of the diet that they do, for example, in desert hunter-gatherer groups. The changes in the faunal assemblage thus have important implications for the overall pattern of settlement change evident in the Allen site data. Despite the changes in the species taken at the site over time, there can be little doubt that large game contributed the majority of the meat in the diet. As Hudson’s (chapter 12) analysis documents, this implies a dietary dependence on small-group hunting at a distance from camp, meaning that the groups occupying the Allen site depended strongly on an activity that has potentially very high yields but that obtains these yields at the cost of unpredictable, and sometimes quite substantial, search costs. In contrast, many small mammals and aquatic species (including some birds) would have been available within the drainage itself and could have been trapped or otherwise caught close to camps located in the drainage; such prey is predictable but offers a lower yield of food than larger mammals do. Ethnographic evidence indicates unambiguously that hunter-gatherers move camp locations when their foraging efforts deplete the resources available locally, although the degree of resource depletion that leads to a move and the distance moved

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depend on such factors as the costs of a move and the expected productivity of potential alternative campsites (Kelly [1995:132–148] discusses this in detail). Recognizing this suggests that there is an important relation between the dietary shift evident in the faunal data and the evidence in the assemblage as a whole for long-term decreases in duration of site occupation. If Paleoindian groups moved camps in and around Medicine Creek as hunting depleted local large game numbers, and perhaps as remaining animals increasingly avoided the areas where humans were present, they would have moved camps more frequently in response to regional reductions in the density of game regardless of the availability of the smaller prey with which they supplemented their diet. Summary The data from the Allen site thus indicate that fairly small groups of people, probably families or groups of families, used the site intermittently over some 3,500 years as a residential base, predominantly during the warmer months of the year. Profound differences in the archaeological content of the other Medicine Creek Paleoindian sites tell us that people ranged out of localities like the Allen site in search of raw material for stone tools (Bamforth 2002a; Hicks 2002). People must similarly have moved through the wider drainage and surrounding uplands in search of large game and the diverse array of other subsistence resources on which they relied. The site must therefore have been a kind of hub of activity within the region, probably chosen because of its shelter, water, and proximity to quarries. Human groups stayed at the site for fairly short periods of time; although it is difficult to estimate exactly what “fairly short” means, stays ranging from a week to as long as a month seem likely. Though these groups certainly knew of and were in contact with human populations over a large area of the Plains, the Medicine Creek evidence implies that their habitual range of movement was not especially large and was certainly not as large as the ranges that are widely claimed for Paleoindians in general. Faced with significant long-term changes in the productivity of at least some aspects of the environment

around them, the occupants of the Allen site appear to have responded by changing two aspects of their activities. First, they relied less and less on upland/grassland species, particularly bison, and more and more on species associated with the more sheltered environments of the local drainages. Second, they moved their residences more often, spending progressively less and less time at the site. That is, they responded by altering some of the material aspects of their lives and seem not to have changed those aspects of their social lives—the size and composition of their residential groups—that this chapter considers. The materials recovered half a century ago from the Medicine Creek sites, and especially the Allen site, thus paint a fairly detailed picture of the way in which Paleoindian groups made use of the drainage and of the changes over time in this use. At the same time, though, this detailed picture highlights what we do not know about the way in which these groups used the larger region around Medicine Creek. The overwhelming dominance of Smoky Hill jasper in the lithic assemblage implies that people arrived at the site from locations within the southwestern Nebraska/northwestern Kansas area, but it does not tell us more than that. There are simply no sites of comparable age that are known in comparable detail to those at Medicine Creek that can help us to assess how typical the patterns evident at the Allen site might be. Were all localities in this part of the Plains occupied as the Allen site was, or were there more (or less) permanent campsites elsewhere? Did Paleoindian groups move out onto the High Plains to the west when they left Medicine Creek, or did they stay within similar kinds of environments located closer by? It simply is not possible to definitively answer questions like these given what we know at present. It is possible, though, to consider the place of the Medicine Creek data in the broader geographic context of the Plains as a whole and assess how the patterns identified here fit into the larger Paleoindian archaeological record. The following chapter completes this volume and addresses this issue.

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Chapter 14

Beyond Medicine Creek The Allen Site and Plains Paleoindian-Period Ways of Life

Douglas B. Bamforth With only kill-site materials available, no balanced view of Paleoindian culture was available. —Irwin-Williams et al. 1973:52

This volume began by arguing that the Allen site is particularly important in light of an ongoing and fundamental rethinking of the Paleoindian period on the Great Plains. As Hill et al. describe the traditional view of this period, “Sophisticated weaponry, use of non-local or exotic lithic raw materials for manufacture of stone tools, a ‘gourmet’ butchery strategy, and the ephemeral nature of most Paleoindian sites are usually taken together as evidence for wide-ranging group movement, presumably reflecting a settlementsubsistence strategy focusing on bison”; they describe this view as “monolithic” (2002:311). Almost nothing about the Allen site is consistent with this, and the degree of difference between the character of the site and the conceptual model that has dominated Paleoindian archaeology underscores the importance of the new perspectives that are rapidly emerging. This last chapter returns to this issue, considering some of the Allen site’s larger implications for Paleoindian archaeology, with two general emphases. First, it outlines a basis for integrating the site with the wider range of variation in Paleoindian sites on the Plains, including the Allen site. Second, it turns from

our understanding of Paleoindian people to our understanding of the Paleoindian archaeological record that those people produced and considers some of the Allen site’s implications for the way we approach the early archaeology of the Plains. Paleoindian Lifeways and Land Use The Allen site data are almost entirely inconsistent with the traditional view of Paleoindian ways of life. As the site documents, Paleoindian technology was not dominated by bifaces or by bifacial cores, by extensive efforts to extend tools’ use-lives, or by anything like a universal large-scale reliance on the longdistance transport of raw material. This last observation implies that the best that can be said of past estimates of Paleoindian range sizes, estimates based largely on the material used for projectile points rather than on more comprehensive assessments of overall patterns of raw material use, is that they are tentative. Like many Paleoindian sites other than large bison kills, the Allen site was reused extensively over very long periods of time: the only Paleoindian sites that as a group consistently show a pattern of little or no site reuse

246 / Chapter 14 are large bison kill sites. Large animals, particularly bison, were surely important in the Paleoindian diet at the Allen site and likely provided most of the meat that the Paleoindian groups there ate, but these groups systematically relied on many other kinds of animals as well. Furthermore, in the Medicine Creek region at least, reliance on animals other than bison increased over time. Importantly, the Allen site evidence supporting all of these conclusions dates unequivocally from Folsom through late Paleoindian times: the site does not speak to Clovis ways of life, but the basic pattern evident at the site persists for the entire remainder of the Paleoindian period. But at the same time that the Allen site data directly challenge many existing generalizations about the Paleoindian period, they also highlight important aspects of the diversity of Paleoindian sites that any new synthesis needs to take into account. There are at least two factors that help to make sense out of this diversity: the possibility of seasonal variation in Paleoindian activities and the importance of temporal change in aspects of Paleoindian lifeways that go beyond changes in projectile point style. In addition, although considering both of these topics requires data drawn from the Plains as a whole, the Medicine Creek data also imply that there are likely to have been significant regional differences on the Plains, both in terms of variable human use of different areas and in terms of the possibility of that there were socially distinct groups in different areas of the Plains. Seasonal Patterns in the Paleoindian Archaeological Record? One way of organizing the variation in the Paleoindian database is by considering patterned variation in the organization of bison hunting, particularly the possibility that this organization varied seasonally. However, there are two important issues in addressing this. First, there can be little doubt that, like all human groups that have inhabited the Great Plains since the initial peopling of the region, Paleoindian hunters killed bison at all times of the year. Seasonality inferences are difficult to draw from small assemblages of bison bone, but, even granting this, kills can be identified during

all seasons of the year with a fairly high degree of confidence, as has been evident for some time (i.e., Todd et al. 1990). However, the issue of seasonality in bison hunting is not whether or not Paleoindian hunters killed bison year-round; it is whether or not they relied year-round on a single kind of organized effort to kill bison. That is, the question is whether or not communal hunts (defined by Driver [1990] as those in which groups of hunters play specific, integrated roles in carrying out an organized plan) occurred year-round or were restricted to specific times of the year. Second, although all known recent hunter-gatherer groups follow (or followed) a more or less specifiable round of seasonally differentiated activities that (at least in temperate environments) often involved communal hunting, this does not mean that they did exactly the same thing in a particular season every single year: year-toyear fluctuations in resource availability, social conditions, and other factors necessarily produce today, and must have produced in the past, parallel fluctuations in seasonal activities. A “seasonal round” must then be seen as a kind of average overall pattern, not a fixed and invariant aspect of a hunter-gatherer way of life. Bearing these issues in mind, existing data outline two groups of sites representing two distinct domains of Paleoindian activity. The first of these domains is relatively large-scale bison hunting, marked by bison bone beds—and often by very large bison bone beds. Sites linked to this domain include kills as well as processing areas and camps that must have been immediately adjacent to kill locales (i.e., Frison 1974; Frison and Stanford 1982; Frison and Todd 1987; Hill 2001; Jodry and Stanford 1992; Meltzer 2006; Stanford 1978; Todd 1987; Wheat 1972, 1979). These sites show one or both of two characteristics indicating that they were produced by organized, cooperative efforts: first, they represent the slaughter of either entire herds or large portions of herds, as indicated by clear age groups within the kill documented by the analysis of tooth eruption and wear patterns; and/or, second, they produce a lithic assemblage comprising projectile points and few other kinds of tools, the assemblage characteristic of communal procurement during all periods of Indian history on the Plains (Fawcett 1986). These sites are the ones that

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have overwhelmingly influenced traditional views of Paleoindians, and they are remarkably uniform in many ways: in particular, these sites show little or no evidence of reuse of specific locations (although some [i.e., Agate Basin; Frison and Stanford 1982] document reuse of a general area at least occasionally over long periods of time), they produce carcasses in almost all cases that show evidence of limited processing, and their artifact assemblages almost always document highly standardized and technologically sophisticated stoneworking and reliance on high-quality exotic raw material. As noted earlier, Bement (1999) argues that these sites cluster in the late summer to early fall on the more southern Plains, at least during the Folsom period; other researchers, particularly those working on the Northwestern Plains, have argued that such kill sites cluster in the winter (Frison 1982; Hill 2005; McCartney 1990). Two aspects of these sites are particularly important here. First, whether we attempt to estimate actual weights of meat obtained through these kills, following Wheat (1972:114–117), or use a more general approach focused on percent of overall carcass utility, following Bement (1999:172–173), the communal kills represented in the Paleoindian archaeological record produced large amounts of food and probably other products. Second, there is no evidence that Paleoindian hunters processed the bison in these kills for long-term storage (for example, by rendering bone grease or producing pemmican as later groups did), although they could readily have dried meat for storage for the shorter term, and there is reason to argue that Northern Plains Paleoindian groups may have frozen carcass sections to live off during the winter. The substantial amount of food generated in these kills must therefore have supplied the relatively near-term needs of the groups that carried them out, implying that these groups must have been relatively large. This first group of sites has provided the lens through which Paleoindian ways of life have been seen for decades. However, a second group of sites that are not associated with communal hunting differs from these in many ways. Sites in this second group include camps with no evidence of communal procurement

(including the Allen site), small kill sites, and other special-purpose locations (i.e., Agogino and Galloway 1965; Bamforth 1985, 2002a; Byers 2002; Davis 1962; Davis and Grieser 1992; Hester 1972; Irwin-Williams et al. 1973; Johnson 1987; Root 2000; Smith and McNees 1990; Wheat 1979; Wheeler 1995). By definition, the occupants of these sites did not supply themselves with meat and other products of the hunt by large-scale bison hunting. How, then, did they supply themselves with these things? Like all human groups that have occupied the Great Plains, the Paleoindian occupants of the sites in this second category often hunted bison and other large mammals in small groups, taking a very small number of animals at a time. The small-scale slaughter of one or two animals at a time—like the hunting that supplied the inhabitants of the Allen site—must have been ubiquitous throughout the Paleoindian period but produces kill sites that are difficult to find and that have rarely been systematically studied. However, this activity is known in some detail at the Lubbock Lake site in the Texas panhandle, where Paleoindian groups systematically used and reused a single meander bend in the Yellowhouse Draw for small-scale bison hunting over and over for thousands of years (Johnson 1987). In sharp contrast to the clear technological signature that distinguishes communal kills, the bone beds at Lubbock Lake produced a wide variety of tools, with projectile points much less common than used unmodified or minimally retouched flakes, and the hunters who used this site organized the equipment they carried for small kills in ways that suggest uncertainty about exactly where they would make a kill and about the exact composition of the tool kit they would need once a kill was made (Bamforth 1985). The animals taken in small-scale hunts, including those at Lubbock Lake, were also typically processed much more heavily than those taken in large kills, both in the sense that hunters completely or nearly completely disarticulated carcasses and in the sense that people often made extensive efforts to extract marrow from butchered bone. Sites in this second group also show a variety of other traits that differ in important ways from those of

248 / Chapter 14 large bison kills. First, as the Allen site documents, bison were not the only animal species taken by Paleoindian foragers. Some of the sites in this second group are dominated by bison bone, and some of them are not: deer, antelope, and small mammals are often present in them. As at the Allen site, large mammals no doubt supplied the majority, and often the great majority, of the meat consumed by Paleoindian populations, but they did not supply all of the meat consumed by these populations. Second, although some of them seem to represent single occupations, others were used repeatedly over very long periods of time. Third, the stone tool assemblages from these sites also tend to be far more variable than those from kill sites, both in the sense that they include a much wider range of kinds of tools and in the sense that they show far more variable levels of technical sophistication and often show different patterns of raw material use than do the assemblages from large bison kills (Bamforth 2002b). Finally, although the small size of the faunal samples from many of these sites makes seasonality inferences tentative, there are hints that they show roughly complementary seasonal patterns to those evident in large communal kills (see, for example, Bement’s [1999:158–160] discussion of Folsom sites on the Southern Plains). Again, as Bement (1999:172–173) shows, even the heavier carcass processing documented on these sites would have produced significantly less food than the light processing documented in larger kills, implying that these sites were generally associated with smaller groups of people than the large kill sites were. It is possible to outline an overall pattern of land use that makes sense out of these data, but it is important to bear a number of important issues in mind in doing this. First, sites like the ones that document these patterns were well preserved, well excavated, and well analyzed. As Labelle’s (2005) attempt to bring together all of the data on Paleoindian sites in his study area shows, sites like these are the minority of those known to exist, and they may or may not document the full range of variation in either the kinds of localities that Paleoindian groups once used or the ways in which they used them. Granted that this is so, though, wellpreserved, -excavated, and -analyzed sites provide far

and away the most detailed picture of past ways of life that is available; in particular, it is far more difficult to impose a priori expectations on these kinds of sites than on surface scatters of stone artifacts or collections of isolated projectile points. Second, there are critical differences in the temporal scales at which different kinds of informationrich sites monitor Paleoindian behavior. On one hand, sites such as Allen, Lindenmeier, Hell Gap, and others can potentially provide long-term views of aggregate patterns of Paleoindian activity. This scale of observation matches the relatively coarse-grained chronology of the Paleoindian period in general, in which both environmental change and human responses to it are necessarily analyzed at the scale of centuries. In contrast, single bone beds such as Olsen-Chubbock (Wheat 1972), Casper (Frison 1974), or Folsom (Meltzer 2006) are the remains of specific events that took place in a very short interval of time, often perhaps in a single day, and that represent a narrow range of the full spectrum of activities Paleoindian groups carried out. In contrast to sites like Allen, they therefore do not “average” behavior over a span of time comparable to the span at which we tend to analyze the Paleoindian period. Instead, they let us see fairly clearly the ways in which ancient humans responded to their assessment of local needs and conditions at specific moments in time. These assessments must necessarily have reflected not only the overall adaptive pattern of the groups making them but also short-term (i.e., decadal or shorter) fluctuations in bison numbers or habits and local geographic differences in bison behavior, all of which are effectively invisible to us given the lack of precision with which we can resolve the Paleoindian chronology. Apparent temporal patterns suggested by small numbers of bone beds, then, have to be considered carefully. However, even granting these problems, the contrasts between the two areas of Paleoindian life indicated by these two categories of sites suggest a far more differentiated pattern of land use than past research recognizes. Paleoindians appear to have lived in groups that varied significantly in size and may systematically have done so at different times of the year. Large bison

Beyond Medicine Creek / 249

kills throughout the Plains seem to have been carried out by fairly large groups of people who rarely reused any specific kill site. However, smaller groups of people appear to have used specific points on the landscape in very variable ways, sometimes producing singlecomponent sites and sometimes reusing specific sites over long periods of time. This latter situation suggests that there were probably locally adapted Paleoindian groups throughout the Plains. The diversity of the ways in which these groups lived in different areas of the Plains landscape has almost certainly been obscured by an overemphasis on the more homogeneous pattern of communal bison procurement. As the previous chapter notes, the rarity of Paleoindian sites in the regions around Medicine Creek makes it essentially impossible to fit the Allen site into a specific regional pattern of land use. However, the presence of Smoky Hill jasper in at least a few published sites hints at the kinds of connections that may ultimately help to do this. Paleoindian points made from this material are scattered from central Nebraska southward into the Southern Plains (Hofman 1990; Myers 1995), but the previous chapter discusses the problems with reconstructions of Paleoindian movements based only on points. Several sites in northeastern Colorado, including Jones-Miller (Stanford 1978), Claypool (Knudson 2002; Muniz 2005), and Jurgens (Muniz 2005), provide somewhat better evidence for connections to the area producing Smoky Hill jasper. The majority of artifacts of this material in these sites are points, but both Jurgens and Claypool have produced other classes of tools as well, although Smoky Hill jasper artifacts of any kind are rare at Jurgens and are unknown at the Frasca site located very close to it (Knudson 2002). Interestingly, there is no Smoky Hill jasper in the Olsen-Chubbock collection (Muniz 2005; Wheat 1972), located south of these sites. Hofman (2003) reports Folsom and later Paleoindian use of this material at a number of localities in southwestern Nebraska. However, all of the artifacts in his sample derive from chronologically mixed surface assemblages; only the points in his sample can definitively be shown to be of Paleoindian age. Finally, personal inspection of part of the assemblage from the Hell Gap

site from eastern Wyoming has identified one artifact that is clearly made from Smoky Hill jasper. These data are dominated by projectile points, many of them recovered as isolates or in surface contexts, and such a data set offers a tenuous basis for most detailed interpretations. However, there are hints in this material that Paleoindian groups may have moved along the valleys of the Republican River and its tributaries, as well as northward into the drainage of the Platte River. Such a pattern of land use could link sites like those at Medicine Creek with large cold-season bison kills on the High Plains to the west and northwest, with such sites illustrated by the Jones-Miller site in eastern Colorado (Stanford 1978), as distinct parts of a seasonal round. Plausible as this may be, though, larger samples of sites are obviously required to draw a conclusion like this with any certainty. Wider connections to regions spanning much of the Plains are evident in very small numbers of artifacts, mainly points, and may be best interpreted as the result of social ties rather than group movements. Change over Time The possibilities just outlined, though, derive from sites dated throughout the Paleoindian period, and the previous chapters point out the evidence for important patterns of temporal change in the way of life documented in the Medicine Creek sites. Although there have been relatively few discussions of processes of change during the Paleoindian period other than changes in projectile point style, there are lines of evidence suggesting that such change merits more attention than it has received. For example, I (1988a) have argued that existing site records show shifts in site types and locations on the southern High Plains that likely reflect Early Holocene climatic changes, although the data from such records must be interpreted very cautiously. More detailed information from better-known sites, though, also argues for important patterns of change. Taken in the aggregate, Paleoindian sites on the Plains as a whole show little or no evidence of dietary change: bison dominate the overall dietary pattern from Folsom through late Paleoindian times (i.e., Hill 2005). However, if we divide the available

250 / Chapter 14 data as suggested above, this continuity is far less clear. Chapter 13 discusses the Allen site data that support this argument: there was a reduction in overall reliance on upland species in favor of riparian species, and this likely reflects regional patterns of environmental change. Similarly, the Hell Gap site shows a decrease in the proportion of bison bone and an increase in the proportion of deer in the faunal assemblage from the Folsom to the late Paleoindian levels (Irwin-Williams et al. 1973; Laughlin 2002), and this is essentially identical to the trend evident at Allen. In contrast, there is little evidence for temporal change in large-scale Paleoindian bison hunting: in particular, the general pattern of minimal site reuse and nonintensive butchery persists throughout almost the entire Paleoindian period, although the average size of Paleoindian communal kills appears to increase over time, probably as the result of an increasingly aggregated distribution of bison (Bamforth 1988a; McDonald 1981; Smiley 1979). Data from the Agate Basin site in eastern Wyoming (Walker 1982) show a shift in the representation of bison skeletal elements from a relatively unselective Folsom pattern to a Hell Gap pattern in which the bison assemblage is dominated by front legs; though one site cannot characterize the Plains as a whole, this trend does suggest a progressive shift in butchery or carcass transport over time. Most clearly, M. G. Hill (2001; Hill et al. 2002) argues for significant increases in the intensity of carcass processing toward the end of the Paleoindian period on the basis of his work at the Clary Ranch site, a trend that he links to the difficulty of overwintering resulting from increasing seasonality over the course of the Early Holocene. The contrast between the overall constancy of Paleoindian communal hunting and the pattern of dietary change evident at Allen and Hell Gap highlights the degree to which past syntheses of Paleoindian lifeways have overemphasized large bison bone beds: the Allen and Hell Gap data suggest that many important aspects of Paleoindian ways of life changed significantly and particularly that bison may have been considerably less important in later periods than in earlier periods. The timing of this change is clearest at

the Allen site, where it appears to have occurred at the transition from the period of soil formation marked by Occupation Level 1 to the period of sediment accumulation marked by the Intermediate Zone; this corresponds roughly to the beginning of the Cody period. Considered in light of this shift, the increased intensity of carcass processing at Clary Ranch may represent the point at which a set of changes that were set in motion a millennium or more earlier and are visible in the remains of small-group activities finally began to alter the behavior of larger groups engaged in communal hunts. Such a pattern is inevitably invisible if we focus our attention on, and derive our syntheses from, large bison kills at the expense of other kinds of sites. Regional Variation However, in the context of current discussions of Paleoindian ways of life, the stability of the early human occupation evident at the Medicine Creek sites is just as important as this pattern of change. We can view this stability from at least two perspectives. Special Places on the Plains Landscape The paleoenvironmental data presented in the first section of this report indicate that the immediate vicinity of Medicine Creek and Lime Creek was largely buffered against much of the substantial change that occurred in the region around them and on the Plains in general during the terminal Pleistocene and Early Holocene. Furthermore, the presence of both permanent water and substantial deposits of flakeable stone in these drainages probably made them particularly desirable places for human occupation, and the data show clearly that they were used by humans persistently throughout the Paleoindian period. Furthermore, different parts of the drainages were used in different ways: Paleoindian occupation fairly clearly responded in very consistent ways to the specific pattern of variation in the environmental conditions in the region. The Paleoindian occupants of the present study area thus seem to have occupied Medicine Creek in extremely repetitive ways and apparently returned to fairly specific areas at relatively closely spaced intervals. The data on lithic raw material use certainly provide no basis for inferring

Beyond Medicine Creek / 251

any substantial movements over unusually large areas, and this is consistent with the kind of locally focused way of life that such a pattern of reuse might imply. These data suggest, tentatively, that Medicine Creek was a “special” place on the Paleoindian landscape, in the sense that it was a place that people relied on for needed resources and returned to over and over again. This possibility, then, raises the question of what other special places there might have been. Currently available data do not make it possible to answer this question definitively, but there are good reasons for suggesting that it is an important question to pursue. Becker and I (Bamforth and Becker 2000) have extended the contrast at the Allen site between core/ biface ratios in the assemblage of worked stone and in the refitted sequences to examine such ratios in Paleoindian assemblages across the Plains. This examination suggests that there is patterned geographic variation in these ratios, with relatively more cores discarded in the vicinity of the Black Hills, in western Montana, and, possibly, on the Southeastern Plains in the eastern part of the Texas Panhandle and Oklahoma, than in other areas. As noted earlier, the discrepancy at the Allen site between core/biface ratios in the assemblage of recovered artifacts and in the refitted reduction sequences appears to reflect a pattern in which occupation of the site was generally shorter than the useful life of a core: cores were often flaked on-site but were apparently then transported elsewhere for further use. This likelihood then implies that higher ratios in the artifacts discarded at a site should reflect either longer periods of residence at that site or, perhaps, more frequent return to that site. Regional clusters of sites with higher and lower core/biface ratios thus provide one preliminary line of evidence suggesting that some parts of the Plains were used more intensively than other parts, and, at least on the Northwestern Plains, these more intensively used areas often appear to be those with greater topographic relief. Significantly, this argument suggests that core/biface ratios should be high at the Hell Gap site, located in the Hartville Uplift of eastern Wyoming. Although the data required to compute such ratios were not available for our analysis, Knell (1999)

tabulates cores and bifaces for the Cody occupation at Hell Gap, and his data put at least that assemblage into the high core/biface ratio group (25 cores, 34 bifaces; ratio = 0.74). Regions in the high ratio group, then, can also be seen as “special places” in the sense that human groups either stayed in them more permanently or returned to them more frequently than other regions. Interestingly, though, Medicine Creek is not in this group: all of the levels in all of the Medicine Creek sites for which ratios can be calculated fall clearly into the low ratio group. That is, we can suggest that there may have been more than one kind of special place, and more than one way of moving across the landscape, on the Early Holocene Great Plains. Medicine Creek seems to have attracted occupation persistently for millennia, but humans occupying the drainage over this span of time seem not to have stayed long. In contrast, the Hell Gap locality was occupied persistently over the same period of time, perhaps in part because of the abundance of local raw material, but stays here may have been longer than at the Allen site, at least during the one period for which we currently have evidence. Data from other sites may suggest other patterns. For example, in contrast to the Medicine Creek data, many other Paleoindian sites with low core/biface ratios show evidence either of single episodes of use or of reuse for only a portion of the Paleoindian period, implying brief use and little or no reoccupation. Core/biface ratios are very general measures of assemblage content and monitor land use patterns only at a very general scale of observation; examining site use in detail requires more intensive analysis than they can provide. However, contrasts like these suggest that we should view Paleoindian use of the Plains not as a more or less undifferentiated or unpatterned aggregate of unpredictable movements but as a complex mosaic of fairly fine-tuned responses to patterned, predictable variation in local and regional environmental conditions (also see Labelle 2005). Only further research focused on this issue can assess whether or not this view is correct. However, it is clear that there are numerous localities on the Plains that are similar to Medicine Creek in the sense that

252 / Chapter 14 excavations exposing tiny proportions of the potentially inhabitable surface have revealed archaeological material dated throughout most or all of the Paleoindian period. As noted above, persistent Paleoindian use of specific localities over long periods of time is thus fairly common on the Plains. Regional Boundaries on the Plains? The degree of familiarity with the landscape suggested by the Medicine Creek data and the overwhelming dominance of Smoky Hill jasper in the lithic assemblage together suggest a fairly local way of life. There is no doubt that the Paleoindian occupants of the Medicine Creek area interacted in some way with groups over a very large area: some kind of interaction is clearly indicated in the geographic distribution of source areas for groundstone tools and for a tiny proportion of the flaked stone, as well as in the stylistic similarities of the projectile points at Medicine Creek to those found elsewhere. However, there is nothing in the data that requires, or even strongly implies, that this interaction involved movements of entire social groups over the region encompassing all of these sources. The fairly restricted geographic range of mobility suggested by the data reported here opens the possibility that there may have been more or less regionally distinct human populations on the Plains during the Paleoindian period. As I (2002b) have discussed, the pattern of raw material use at the Allen site is quite typical of a great many Paleoindian sites over much, although not all, of the Great Plains, and this suggests an overall Paleoindian pattern of movement within relatively restricted regions. The differences and similarities between the Medicine Creek pattern and that evident at the Hell Gap site in Wyoming add some detail to this possibility. Like Medicine Creek, Hell Gap (Irwin-Williams et al. 1973) is a locality that contains long sequences of both Early Holocene sediments and Early Holocene archaeology. A preceding section notes the similar patterns of change in the faunal assemblages at Allen and Hell Gap, and there are important similarities in other aspects of the collection. For example, the lithic assemblage at both sites is almost entirely made from locally

available raw material, and analysis of the assemblage at both sites suggests fairly local patterns of movement (Sellet 1999). Furthermore, the Allen site collection contains a tiny amount of material from the region around Hell Gap, and the Hell Gap collection contains a tiny amount of Smoky Hill jasper that is macroscopically indistinguishable from that found at Medicine Creek (personal observation). Differences between the assemblages, though, are telling. While Hell Gap provides the classic sequence of Western Plains Paleoindian points (Irwin-Williams et al. 1973) and the Allen site points show at least some similarities to this sequence, there are important differences between the points from these sites. In particular, the small, often lanceolate and concave-based points from Allen do not appear to be replicated at Hell Gap. Identical points to these, though, are relatively common in private collections of material gathered along the Republican and Blue river drainages east of Medicine Creek. In the more western portions of this area, these points appear to be made predominantly from Smoky Hill jasper; in the more eastern portions, they are generally made from Flint Hills chert from eastern Kansas (D. Eckles, personal communication, 2001), paralleling the local pattern of raw material use at Allen. Wedel (1959: pl. 15) also illustrates a series of points from surface collections in northeastern Kansas, some of which are very similar to the Allen site points. Similarly, the beveled tools found at Allen, which appear to be hide scrapers, seem to be absent from Hell Gap: hide scrapers at the latter site were made on flakes (Bamforth and Becker n.d.) and are essentially identical to hide scrapers made on the Plains for thousands of years. Such scrapers are known (in very small numbers) from the Red Smoke and Lime Creek sites but do not occur at the Allen site. As chapter 10 notes, the beveled tools found at Allen resemble tools found mainly to the east and south. Other authors (i.e., Johnson 1989; Knudson 2002; Myers and Lambert 1983) have argued that the Medicine Creek data, especially the points from Red Smoke, show strong resemblances to more eastern materials, particularly Dalton materials. The patterns noted here support arguments like these but also suggest that,

Beyond Medicine Creek / 253

whatever the connections that produced these resemblances, they did not extend out onto the more western Plains. Stylistic differences in points and hide scrapers at Allen and Hell Gap imply, albeit tentatively, that there may have been regionally distinct populations in different parts of the Plains. Similarities between some of the points from these sites and the movement of at least small amounts of raw material between them indicate that whatever “boundaries” might have existed between such populations were indistinct, as observations of recent groups of mobile hunter-gatherers imply they should have been. However, the possibility that there is identifiable regional stylistic patterning in the Early Holocene archaeological record on the Plains has important implications for our understanding of this period of time (also see Bamforth 1991a). The Structure of the Paleoindian Archaeological Record Our ability to illuminate issues like these, though, depends on our ability to unravel the Paleoindian archaeological record. The Medicine Creek data illuminate at least two aspects of this problem. Site Distributions and Geographic Scales of Archaeological Analysis Regional studies in archaeology are always constrained by the nature of the available regional database and are generally constrained more severely when we study more ancient periods of time. One result of this problem is that, in order to obtain an adequate body of data for analysis, we are often forced to compare sites that are dispersed over very large areas. Regional concentrations of known Paleoindian sites exist on the Plains (for example, in Wyoming and on the southern High Plains), but even within such concentrations these sites are widely scattered. It follows that intersite comparisons must be made over very large areas and often over the entire Western Plains. However, although such a solution to the problem of limited data is a practical response to archaeological reality, we have only begun to consider the implications of a reliance on such a large spatial scale of analysis for our ability to answer the questions we study.

Regional intersite comparisons for the Paleoindian period highlight this issue. Such comparisons tend to fall into one of two categories. First, they often rely on relatively large numbers of sites within a fairly welldefined area but have access to very limited information about those sites (i.e., Bamforth 1988a; Hester and Grady 1977; Labelle 2005). Alternatively, they examine only those sites that have been described in at least reasonable detail, forcing analysis to a very large geographic scale (i.e., Bamforth and Becker 2000; Todd et al. 1990). Although both of these alternatives have provided insights into Paleoindian ways of life, neither offers an ideal means of examining these ways of life. The problems with limited information on site contents and structure are obvious, and analyses based on such data can provide only very preliminary assessments of possible patterning in the archaeological record as a basis for more detailed research. However, archaeology has paid less attention to the problems linked to large geographic scales of analysis and small, highly dispersed samples of sites. One problem that is particularly important in this context is the contrast between such large geographic scales and the geographic scales of the research that has provided the conceptual tools on which archaeologists interested in regional adaptive patterns base their work. Most of these tools derive from ethnographic or ethnoarchaeological observations about very local patterns of adaptation, including the general archaeological correlates of the forager-collector continuum and such notions as a site catchment area. However, even the least differentiated pattern of hunter-gatherer land use (for example, Binford’s [1980] paradigmatic foraging adaptation) produces more than one kind of archaeological site, and these different kinds of sites are likely to have different distributions across the landscape. Unless we can show that natural processes and archaeological recovery have provided us with a representative sample of the range of sites in the area we are considering and that there is little or no geographic variation in land-use patterns across this area, large-scale geographic studies must be conducted cautiously. Problems of site preservation and visibility are especially important in this context. Chapter 1 notes

254 / Chapter 14 that Paleoindian archaeologists have emphasized large bison bone beds in part because such sites are relatively easy to locate. Small, low-density Paleoindian sites are known, but the greater vulnerability of such sites to destruction by natural forces and the lower likelihood that surviving examples of such sites will be identified and investigated make it almost certain that they are seriously underrepresented in the available database. Furthermore, many Paleoindian sites have survived as a result of geologic accidents (Albanese 1977) and have generally been discovered as the result of a variety of historical accidents (Seebach 2006). Paleoindian sites typically occur either within islands of terminal Pleistocene/Early Holocene deposits surrounded by a sea of sediments of different ages or as tiny windows into extensive but physically inaccessible buried deposits, making it essentially certain that local complexes of functionally interrelated sites that probably once existed in many areas are incompletely preserved and exposed. The combination of such incomplete preservation and a systematic bias in archaeological work on a narrow range of the sites that may have survived implies that we generally know virtually nothing about the local contexts of which known sites were once a part. The Medicine Creek data offer an opportunity to examine local patterns of Paleoindian activity over a considerable span of time across a reasonably welldefined local landscape that human groups could have traversed in a single day, rather than within a region that they may or may not have been able to traverse in a lifetime. Given this, it is useful to contrast the interpretations presented here with my (1991b) preliminary assessment of the differences among the Medicine Creek sites. This assessment did not systematically incorporate most of the artifactual data from Lime Creek and Red Smoke. Instead, it relied primarily on the obvious differences in the faunal assemblages to suggest a pattern in which “small human groups ranged through the drainage, shifting residences relatively frequently and exploiting resources on an extremely local scale” (Bamforth 1991b:366). The unspoken assumption underlying this argument is that the presence of hearths, artifacts, and animal remains at all three sites

indicated that they were all functionally equivalent. This unspoken assumption now appears to be incorrect: Allen was a residential base, but Red Smoke and Lime Creek are more accurately described as quarries at which limited residential activities occurred (Bamforth 2002a; Hicks 2002). Significantly, these differences are evident despite the fact that these sites are located virtually within sight of one another. People may simply have concentrated their residential activities along the main drainage in response to its greater abundance of water, plants, and, possibly, animals. However, whether or not an explanation like this is correct, the facts remain that the Paleoindian settlement pattern at Medicine Creek was sensitive to differences in the landscape at an extremely local scale and that this sensitivity persisted throughout much of the Early Holocene. It is only in the latest occupations that the Allen site assemblage comes to resemble those from Lime Creek and Red Smoke, and, despite these resemblances, important differences persist. How might one interpret the remains recovered from any one of the Medicine Creek sites had that site been found without the other two? The diversity of faunal remains recovered from the Allen site suggests a rather different kind of subsistence pattern than that inferred at most Western Plains sites, where bison overwhelmingly dominate most faunal assemblages. However, early work indicated that bison is the primary constituent of the faunal assemblage at Red Smoke; on its own, Red Smoke would therefore fit neatly with the Western Plains pattern (although more recent work indicates that this initial assessment was incorrect; M. E. Hill, personal communication, 2006). Similarly, both Lime Creek and Red Smoke produced animal bone, hearths, and at least some finished tools, and one could therefore infer that they represent residential sites, as just noted. It is only by comparison to the Allen site that the place of these sites in the overall pattern of land use at Medicine Creek becomes apparent. Paleoindian archaeology has come to recognize the central importance of understanding the effects of taphonomic processes on bison bone beds: we simply cannot interpret these features without taking formation processes into account. However, it is

Beyond Medicine Creek / 255

equally important to recognize the implications of such processes for the larger perspective of site and regional interpretations in general. The realities of site preservation and visibility often make it effectively impossible to look in other areas for the kinds of local variation evident at Medicine Creek, and, as numerous recent analyses have observed (Labelle 2005; Muniz 2005; Seebach 2006), these realities can strongly affect our understanding of regional site distributions. The Medicine Creek data suggest that comparative analysis at the local level may be essential to understanding how a given site fits into an overall pattern of land use, and we need to develop analytic approaches that can get around the fact that such local comparisons cannot be made in most cases. Simple overall measures of assemblage content like core/biface ratios offer one preliminary step toward this, but much more work needs to be done in this area. Soils, Surfaces, and Aggregate Artifact Assemblages Taphonomic issues are also critical in evaluating withinsite patterning, and the Allen site data have important implications for Paleoindian archaeology in this arena as well. The fundamental process structuring the site appears to have been the interaction between varying rates of sediment accumulation and a recurrent pattern of human use and reuse. When sediments were accumulating very slowly, or not at all, soils formed and artifacts accumulated in large numbers on occupation surfaces; when sediments accumulated more rapidly, artifacts accumulated in much lower numbers. In these latter circumstances, these densities would probably have been too low for archaeologists to identify the site were it not for the substantial accumulations of material on the buried soil surfaces, particularly the surface of Occupation Level 1. Furthermore, the evidence indicates that artifacts on and off of soil surfaces accumulated in dumps that stayed in essentially the same place over long periods of time. These conclusions have important implications for our understanding of spatial patterning within Paleoindian sites in general. In particular, they highlight the difference between the analytic units on which we base our reconstructions

of ancient human ways of life—archaeological assemblages—and specific human occupations of archaeological sites. The large bison kills that so dominate our view of the Paleoindian period likely represent either single events or very closely related events carried out over a very short period of time. Although the clarity of the data that can be derived from such sites derives partially from this, it is important to recognize that such kill sites are anomalous when compared with the bulk of the archaeological record. Most archaeological sites are the aggregate results of unknown numbers of human occupations and must be interpreted as such. Certainly, all levels that can be identified at the Allen site represent multiple occupations, and intrasite spatial patterns have to be examined with this in mind. Paleoindian sites in general, and Folsom-age sites in particular, occur largely either on or eroded out from buried soils (i.e., Frison and Bradley 1980; Frison and Stanford 1982; Holliday 1995a; Root 2000; Wilmsen and Roberts 1984), suggesting that processes like those that operated at the Allen site are important in many other cases as well. Archaeological patterns at the Lindenmeier site highlight this. Lindenmeier is perhaps the most spectacular Paleoindian site ever discovered on the Great Plains and has been described as “by any measure the largest Paleolithic site yet discovered in the Western Hemisphere” (Wilmsen and Roberts 1984:16–17). Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:179) view it as an aggregation locale, perhaps used in communal hunting, and Hofman (2002:408) explicitly sees it as a camp associated with large-scale bison hunting, comparable to Stewart’s Cattle Guard or Agate Basin. The elegant “Lindenmeier Folsom” point is the archetype that modern flint knappers have often attempted to emulate (i.e., Flenniken 1978), and the lithic assemblage from the site offers at least anecdotal evidence supporting arguments about the “extraordinary” (Hofman 2002:409) sophistication of Folsom-period stoneworking. However, the site shows a remarkable series of similarities to the Allen site. Archaeological material was clearly deposited at Lindenmeier by numerous occupations over an extended period of time: although excavation focused on the Folsom deposits, points from

256 / Chapter 14

Table 14.1: Comparison of Densities of Archaeological Material at the Allen and Lindenmeier Sites Density

Allen Site

Excavated Square Feet 1,200 Unmodified Flakes Count 11,068 Per Square Foot 9.22 Retouched Pieces Count 281 Per Square Foot 0.23 Bone (Number of Identified Specimens of Prairie Dog and Larger) Count 5,764 Per Square Foot 4.8 Finished Points Count 9 Per Tool 0.03

Lindenmeier Site

16,000a 50,000 3.12 6,000b 0.375 20,000 1.25 322 0.05

Note: Allen Site data from this volume; Lindenmeier data (except for the number of finished projectile points) are approximations from Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:16). Lindenmeier total of finished projectile points is from Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:102). Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:16) suggest a total excavated area of 18,000 ft2 but point out that flakes were not saved in 1934 and 1935. This area reduces the total area to account for excavations in these years.

a

Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:16) note a total of 5,478 catalog entries for “chipped stone,” which often include multiple artifacts; this value takes this into account.

b

the site span most of the Paleoindian period, and the Folsom deposits show multiple vertical and horizontal concentrations of material that Wilmsen and Roberts (1984:175) suggest must have accumulated over centuries; as at Allen, there do not appear to be any obviously sterile levels between these concentrations. There are no published data on vertical refits among broken artifacts, but refits are few relative to the size of the assemblage, and virtually all horizontal linkages are within artifact concentrations rather than between them. The faunal remains from the site are poorly known but also parallel the Allen site pattern: bison appear to dominate the overall assemblage (as they do at the Allen site in the lowest level), but they are accompanied by a variety of other species, including antelope, deer, rabbits, wolf, and others. There was an almost entirely undocumented bison bone bed identified at Lindenmeier, which included the partially articulated remains of at least nine animals associated with a hearth and a variety of flaked-stone tools (Roberts 1936:14; Wilmsen and Roberts 1984:Figure 166). However, this bone bed was

located 250–350 m from the excavation that Wilmsen and Roberts (1984) discuss, and it is impossible to tell how—or even if—it was associated with the material in this excavation. Regardless, arguing that every occupation of the site was linked to a large kill would imply a pattern of hunting that is otherwise utterly unknown for Paleoindian times and entirely inconsistent with widespread reconstructions of Paleoindian land use. The collection from the site is immensely larger than that from the Allen site, but so too is the size of the excavated area. As Table 14.1 shows, the density of cultural material at the Allen site may well have been higher than that at Lindenmeier, and the ratio of finished projectile points to other worked stone is very similar (although the difficulty of obtaining specific artifact counts for the Lindenmeier assemblage makes these comparisons imprecise). Both sites also produced bone tools, including needles, and grinding stones. Taking account of the processes that appear to have formed the Allen site thus suggests that Lindenmeier may represent a pattern of land use very much like that

Beyond Medicine Creek / 257

documented in this volume, although this can only be confirmed (or refuted) by more detailed analysis. Conclusions The Allen site thus provides important new data on Early Holocene ways of life on the Plains and simultaneously raises significant questions that can only be answered with additional research. Many of these questions have to do with variability in these ways of life, both in space and over time: the Allen site adds substantially to the data that make it increasingly difficult to treat the Paleoindian period as a single, homogeneous construct. No single archaeological site can stand for all aspects of any human society, and more research certainly needs to be done, both at Medicine Creek and at other localities, to provide detailed

comparisons for many of the patterns evident in the Allen site data. However, the issues addressed in this volume have important implications for the nature of Paleoindian ways of life on the Plains and for our approaches to the archaeological record of those ways of life. There are serious practical problems in addressing some of these issues, particularly the difficulty of locating Early Holocene archaeological sites on the Plains in general and on the Central Plains in particular. Certainly, the depth of burial of the Medicine Creek sites helps to explain why we know so little about the Paleoindian period in Nebraska and Kansas, for example. However, new discoveries and careful analyses of existing collections will help to extend the patterns and address the questions identified here.

259

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279

Contributors

Dougls B. Bamforth, Volume Editor, Anthropology Department, 233 UCB, University of Colorado, Boulder 80309

Jean Hudson, Anthropology Department, University of Wisconsin, P.O. Box 413, Milwaukee, WI 53201

Mark Becker, ASM Affiliates, 543 Encinitas Boulevard, Encinitas, CA 90204

David May, Geography Department, Sabin Hall 1, University of Northern Iowa, Cedar Falls, IA 50614

Reid A. Bryson, Center for Climatic Research, University of Wisconsin, 1225 West Dayton Street, Madison, WI 53706

Thomas E. Moutoux, PaleoResearch Institute, Inc., 2675 Youngfield Street, Golden, CO 80401

James C. Chatters, Applied Paleoscience, 648 Saint Street, Richland, WA 99352

Robert E. Warren, Illinois State Museum Research and Collections Center, 1011 East Ash Street, Springfield, IL 62703

Linda Scott Cummings, PaleoResearch Institute, Inc., 2675 Youngfield Street, Golden, CO 80401

L. Anthony Zalucha, Paleoethnobotanical Consulting, 109 Sunset Lane, Mount Horeb, WI 53572

E. Mott Davis, Anthropology Department, University of Texas, Austin (deceased)

281

Index The letter f or t following a page number indicates a figure or table on that page.

Agate Basic site, 250

Blackman, E. E., 10

Alibates agate, 177

Blackwater Draw site, 2, 11

Allen site. See synthesis (Allen site); specific studies and topics

Bogan, Arthur E., 68

Amick, D., 239 Anderson, P., 158 Anderson-Gerfaud, P., 162 Angostura Reservoir, 161 Arbogast, A. F., 21 archaeoclimatic models, 77, 80–92; results, 92–94

bone artifacts, 187–88; bipointed pieces, 189–90; human modification problems, 187–88; needles, 189 Bradley, B., 164

Barbour, Erwin H., 9 Baumler, M., 133 Becker, M., 251 Behm, J., 133 Behrensmeyer, A. K., 210 Bement, L., 3, 211, 247–48 Beta Analytic, Inc., 40–42 Binford, L. R., 145, 211, 213 bison, 242–43; deposition rates, 234t; Frontier County and, 12; hunting of, 6, 246–48; Lime Creek site and, 15; Medicine Creek region and, 7, 9, 60; Paleoindian groups and, 2–6; synthesis (Allen site) and, 234–35; utilization of, 234t. See also under faunal evidence for subsistence and settlement patterns study

debitage, 4, 133, 142, 148, 157–58, 174–76; lithic refitting and, 125–26; point transport and, 241; tool production methods and, 182–83

Chatters, J. C., 205

early Holocene vegetation study: archaeological charcoal, 100–101; archaeological charcoal results, 104–7; forest associations, 99–100; geological charcoal, 101–2; geological specimens results, 104; Intermediate Zone, 107; methods, 102; Occupation Level 1, 105–7; paleoclimatic literature, 102–3; scope, 98; study area, natural vegetation of, 98–100; summary and conclusions, 107–8

Claypool site, 249

Elias, G. K., 21–23, 111–12, 118

Brice, J. C., 18, 63–66, 117, 144 Byers, D. A., 4

Cahen, Daniel, 124–25 Callahan, E., 149–50

Bamforth, Douglas B., 19, 24, 123, 157, 175, 237

Davis, E. M., 19, 25–26, 29–36, 87, 117, 161; 1949 excavations and, 115

Centre of Forensic Sciences, 159

Clements, Frederic E., 98 Clovis period, 2, 4, 240–41 Cody period, 250 Conyers, Larry, 18, 25–26, 29, 31, 186, 228 Cook, Louis, 14 core/biface ratios, 235–36, 251–52. See also lithic assemblage studies Corner, George, 194, 227 Culliford, Bryan J., 159 Cummings, Linda Scott, 18 Cushing, E. J., 102–3

Dalton occupations, 161; Medicine Creek sites and, 252–53

faunal evidence for subsistence and settlement patterns study, 194; analysis units, temporal and spatial, 197–98; animal bone, features and, 218–19, 220t–22t; animal bone, features and summary, 225; animal variety, 195t–96t; aquatic resources use, 195t–96t, 217–18; bison age profile, 203–5; bison body part representation, 204t, 205–9; bison utilization, 202–3, 204t, 210–14; conclusions, 225–26; deer and pronghorn utilization, 195t–96t, 201t, 202f–3f, 204t, 215–17; hearth features, 219, 223; large game use, social implications of, 217; Lime Creek and, 214–15; methods, 194–97; overview, 195t–96t, 198; scatter features, 220t–22t, 223–25; small game and taphonomy,

282 / Index 199–200; small game use, social implications of, 200–202; taphonomic filters, 209–10, 212t Fenn cache, 240–41 Fernald, Merritt L., 99 fieldwork (Allen site), 109; 1947 excavations, 110–11; 1948 excavations, 110f, 111–15; 1949 excavations, 109f, 115; extent of, 116–17; “features,” 115, 116; Occupation Level 1, 115; Occupation Level 1 and 2, 116; summary, 122 Fifth Plains Archeological Conference, 11 Folsom period, 1–6, 11, 239–40, 250, 255 Frankforter, W. D., 25–26 Frasca site, 249 Fredlund, G., 104 freshwater mussels, cultural and paleoenvironmental implications study, 47–48; compositional change, 60–61; cultural model, 67; differential preservation and, 54; discussion, 56–57; discussion and conclusions, 67–68; environmental model, 67–68; environmental setting, 48–49; geomorphic evolution, 63–67; habitat specialization and, 47; modified valves, 54–55; mussel analysis, 49; mussel utilization, 54–55, 67–68; paleoenvironmental model, 61–63; species composition, 49–54; species extirpation, 59–60; stratigraphic distribution, 52–54; subsistence potential, 55–56, 67–68; zooarchaeological models, 65t, 66; zoogeography, 57–60 freshwater mussels, growth increment analysis study, 69; age analysis, 72, 75; conclusions, 76; growth increment measurement, 70–71; growth rate analysis, 72, 75–76; methods, 70; results, 73–76; season at death analysis, 71–72, 73–75; specimens, 69; specimen selection, 72–73 Frison, G., 164, 187 Frontier County, 6, 12, 98; bison and, 12; Frontier Culture Complex, 12; precipitation in, 98. See also early Holocene vegetation study

Goodyear, A., 2

Kay, M., 235

Graffham, Alan, 109

Keeley, L., 170

Griffitts, J., 187

Keith, Alex S., 9, 14

Gruger, J., 103, 106

Kelly, R., 2 Kihl, R., 20

Hamblin, N., 188, 194, 199, 204–5, 209–10

Klippel, Walter E., 55–56

hammerstones and groundstone artifacts, 184–87

Knell, E., 251

Harry Strunk Lake, 9, 10, 49, 109 Hell Gap site, 67, 250, 251; Medicine Creek drainage and, 252; Smoky Hill jasper and, 252

Knox, J. C., 68 Knudson, Ruthann, 8, 16 Kornfeld, M., 6

Hendelberg, J., 72

Labelle, J., 5, 248

Hicks, K., 8

landforms, alluvial stratigraphy, and radiocarbon chronology study, 17; drilling at Lime Creek and Red Smoke, 18; previous pertinent work, 17–18; radiocarbon assays, samples for, 19–20; radiocarbon dating, 23–25; sediment and soil description, sampling, and analyses, 19; stratigraphy, 20–23; summary and conclusions, 44–46; terraces, mapping of, 18

Hill, A. T., 10, 245 Hill, M. E., 3 Hofman, J., 255 Hoke, Ellet, 51–52 Holder, Preston, 6, 12–13, 20–21, 109, 123; groundstones and, 187; occupation levels and, 178; stratigraphic designations and, 110–19, 127–28, 146, 189

landscape evolution model, 45–46

Holen, S., 176

Late Wisconsin period, 43–44

Holliday, V., 16

Leonhard, A. Byron, 57

Houlette, John, 14

Letourneau, P., 6

Hudson, Jean, 143, 188, 233–35

Levi Shelter site, 67

human remains, 191–92, 231

Libby, Willard, 12–13, 23, 30–31, 115

Johnson, E., 16

Lime Creek site, 2, 11, 13; Allen site and, 228; bison and, 15; Cultural Zone I, 28, 31, 44–45; Cultural Zone II, 31, 45; fauna, Allen site and, 214–15; history of, 25; pollen and, 228; radiocarbon dating, 30–31; scientific excavation and, 15; Smoky Hill jasper and, 15, 215; stratigraphy, 25–30; synthesis and, 254

Johnson, W. C., 21

Lindenmeier site, 11; Allen site and, 255–57

Jones, D., 8

lithic assemblage, spatial structure and refitting of, 123; 1947 excavations and, 137–38, 176; artifact piles and, 140–45; hearth/artifact associations, interpretation of, 145; hearths and artifact concentrations, 137–38; horizontal artifact densities, 129–32,

Interagency Archeological and Paleontological Salvage Program, 10

Jaumann, P., 104

Jones-Miller site, 213; Smoky Hill jasper and, 237 Julig, Patrick, 159–60 Jurgens site, 161, 208, 249

Index / 283

133f; horizontal patterning, 124, 129; horizontal refit patterns, 136–37; hunter-gatherer campsites, internal organization of, 139; implications, 138; Intermediate Zone, 128–29; lithic refitting, 124–25; methodology, 123–24; occupation and reoccupation and, 139–40; refits, technological patterning and, 138; size-sorting, 133–36; units of analysis, definition of, 145–47; vertical patterning, 121f, 124; vertical patterning results, 125–29 lithic assemblage, vertical provenience for, 117; archaeological versus geological stratigraphy, 117–18; discussion, 119–20; East 35 profile, 119; Profiles A and B, 118–19; vertical units of analysis, 120–22 lithic assemblage study: 1947 excavations and, 176; beveled tools, 161–62, 163t; bifaces, 149–50, 164–66; blank production, 168–70; blood residue analysis, 173–74; blood residue analysis methods, 159–60; cores, 155, 166–67; debitage, 157–58, 174–76, 180, 181f, 182t; edge-modified flakes, 154f, 155, 163–64; flaked stone, overall temporal patterns, 180, 182–83; flaked stone methods summary, 157; flaked stone results, 159–60, 176–78; flaked-stone tools, movement and use of, 178; heat alteration and, 167–68; methods, 148; microwear analysis, 170–73; microwear analysis, limitations on, 158–59; microwear analysis, sampling and analytic techniques, 159; microwear analysis methods, 158; perforators, 151–52, 153f, 155; projectile points, 151, 151f, 152f, 160–61; scaled pieces, 156, 156f, 164; Smoky Hill jasper and, 176, 178; temporal patterns and, 149t, 178; worked stone, 148–49, 178–80 Loveland Loess, 63 Lubbock Lake site, 247 Lutz Bluff Shelter, 61

McCabe, T., 187

O’Connell, James F., 140, 144–45

McCartney, P., 214

Ogallala Formation, 63

Medicine Creek Basin, 48–49

Olsen-Chubbuck site, 208, 213, 249

Medicine Creek cutbank, 37; Cultural Zone I, 37, 39; phytoliths and, 84; pollen and, 228; radiocarbon ages, 39; sedimentation, 227; stratigraphy, 37–39, 40f Medicine Creek sites, 2, 6, 9, 253–55; Dalton occupations and, 252–53; depositional and erosional events, 45; differences, 232; environment and adaptive change, 242–44; harvesting the environment of, 233–35; Hell Gap and, 252; maps, 7f, 17f, 48f; mussel shells and, 229; occupation of, 236–37, 251; phytoliths and, 228; pollens and, 228; Smoky Hill jasper and, 7, 11, 238–39, 249 Mellars, P., 162 Meltzer, D., 240 Miller site, 61 Mill Iron site, 164 minimal animal unit technique (MAU), 206, 211–13 minimum number of elements (MNE), 194, 207–8, 212 minimum number of individuals (MNI), 194, 207–8 Morrison, J. P. E., 60 Mousel terrace, 65 Mowry Bluff site, 60 mud dauber nests, architecture and, 191 Muniz, M., 229–30 Murray, Harold D., 57

paleoenvironmental interpretations (pollens and phytoliths) study, 77; archaeoclimatic models, 80, 92–94; data collection, 78–79; grass populations, 96; Lime Creek site, 95; Lime Creek site phytoliths, 84f, 86–87; Lime Creek site pollen, 84–87; Medicine Creek cutbank, 83–84; methods, 77; phytolith review, 79; phytoliths, climatic fluctuations and, 96; pollen aggregates, 78–79; pollen/ phytolith extraction, 77–78; pollen sample provenience, 82t; pollen types, 81t, 83; Red Smoke site, 87–89, 95–96; results, 80–83; sites, 77, 80; Stafford site, 89–90, 95–96; Stafford site phytoliths, 91–92; Stafford site pollen, 90–91; summary and conclusions, 94–97 Paleoenvironmental summary (Allen site), 227–33 Paleoindian lifeways: Allen site conclusions and, 257; archaeological record, structure of, 253–57; archaeology, changing views of, 1–2; challenges and new perspectives, 3–6; credibility and, 11–14; geographical and temporal patterns, 5–6; land use and, 4, 245–46; patterns of change over time and, 249–50; recent views of, 2–3; regional variation and, 250–53; seasonal patterns and, 246–49; site distributions and geographic scales, 253–55; site types and, 247–48; soils, surfaces, and aggregate artifact assemblages, 255–57; technology and, 4–5; temporal scales and, 248; traditional view of, 245 Parmalee, Paul W., 55–56

Native Americans, 1, 47 Nebraska State Historical Society, 60

Mandel, R. D., 21

Nebraska State Museum (NSM), 8, 9–10, 109

Martin, C. W., 21

Newman, Margaret, 159–60, 173–74

Matteson, Max R., 61

Niobrara Formation, 63

May, D. W., 227

Niska site, 151

Pawnee Indians, 9 Peoria Loess, 63–65 phytoliths, 86–87, 89; archaeoclimatic models and, 80; extraction of, 77–78; Lime Creek site and, 84f, 86–87, 95; Medicine Creek cutbank and, 84; Red Smoke site and, 89, 95–96; review of, 79; Stafford site and, 91–92, 95–96; synthesis and, 228–29

284 / Index Picha, R., 167–68 pollen, 77, 95, 227–28; data collection and, 78–79; extraction of, 77–78; Great Plains and, 102–4; Lime Creek site and, 84–86; Red Smoke site and, 87–89; Stafford site and, 90–91; synthesis and, 235; taxa, 83 Pound, Roscoe, 98

Red Smoke site, 2, 11, 13, 36; beveled tools, 161; Cultural Zones, 32, 34, 36; “drills” at, 151; occupation of, 237; pollen and, 228; radiocarbon dating, 34–37; scientific excavation and, 15–16; Smoky Hill jasper and, 32; stratigraphy, 31–34 Rehder, Harald A., 60 Republican River drainage, 10, 59, 176 Republican River Terrace 2A (Stockville Terrace), 11 Roberts, F. H. H., 255–56 Rogers, J., 191 Royal Canadian Mounted Police Serology Laboratory, 159

Santa Ynez Valley, 176 Schultz, C. Bertrand, 25–26, 36, 63, 87, 109; 1949 excavations and, 115; previous Medicine Creek research and, 9–14, 17, 20; T3 and, 144 Scottsbluff Bison Quarry, 10 Sliva, J., 170 Smithsonian Institution, 60 Smoky Hill jasper, 176–78, 238–39; Allen site refits and, 138; Allen site uses of, 238–39; heat alteration and, 157; Hell Gap site and, 252; Jones-Miller site and, 237; Lime Creek site and, 15, 215; Medicine Creek sites and, 7, 11, 238–39, 249, 252; regional land use patterns and, 249 “special” places, 250–52 “springbranch” canyons, 98 Stacy, H. E., 21

Stafford site, 17f, 39, 41f; pollen and, 228; radiocarbon dating, 40–44; stratigraphy, 40 Stansbery, David H., 60 Stewart, J. D., 102 Stockville Terrace, 65 Strong, William Duncan, 10 synthesis (Allen site): bison and, 234–35; bison bone beds, taphonomic processes and, 254–55; change over time, 249–50; debitage, 241; deposition rates, mammal species, 233–34, 238; faunal data, 233–35; flaked stones, 238–39; grinding stones, 238; group size and composition, 237–38; hearths, 236; land use, geographic scales of, 238–42; Lime Creek and, 254; lithic assemblage composition, 236; nonlocal stone, 239– 42; Paleoenvironmental summary, 227– 33; Paleoindian occupation, 179t, 230– 33; Paleoindian occupation, duration of, 235–37; Paleoindian occupation, seasons and, 235; Paleoindian occupation, summary, 242; Red Smoke and, 254; regional boundaries, 252–53; regional variation, 250; Smoky Hill jasper and, 238–39; “special places” on the Plains landscape, 250–52; summary, 244. See also specific topics

taphonomy, 54, 148–49, 194, 206–7, 217, 219, 225; bison bone beds and, 254–55; density and, 211, 215; filters, 209–10, 212t; small game and, 199–200 Todd, L. C., 2, 208, 211 Toohey, Loren, 14

Ugan, A., 4 University of Chicago, 30, 34 University of Nebraska State Museum, 194 University of Texas Radiocarbon Lab, 30, 34, 36, 39, 40–42

Van der Schalie, Henry, 51 volume study area, methods, and organization, 6–8

Watts, W. A., 103 Webb, T., III, 102–3 Wedel, Waldo R., 10, 14, 228 Wells, Philip V., 102–3 Wendland, Wayne M., 103 Wheat, J. B., 16, 161, 208–9, 211, 214, 247 Wheeler, R., 161 Wike, Joyce, 12–13, 20–21, 109, 123; 1948 excavations and, 161; groundstones and, 187; occupation levels and, 178; stratigraphic designations, 127–28, 146, 189 Wilmsen, E., 255–56 Witthoft, J., 2 Wright, H. E., 102–3

Yellowhouse Draw, 247

Zalucha, L. Anthony, 227–28 zooarchaeology, measurement techniques: “industry standards” and, 206; minimal animal unit technique (MAU), 207–8; minimum number of elements (MNE), 194, 207–8, 212; minimum number of individuals (MNI), 194, 207–8

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