Coming east from the Pacific coast, we find existing on the very edge of the desolate interior extensive ruins of ancient cities, of whose builders even tradition gives no account. By these and other remains which the gnawing tooth of Time has still spared to us, the people of those days tell us that they were full of commercial energy; and who knows but they may have been as determined as our nation has ever been, to push trade across from ocean to ocean? It is highly probable also that the Indians of the interior were then far superior to the present tribes, as seems very fairly determined by many of the traditions and customs which obtain among the latter. In view of the foregoing considerations, it is not remarkable that the beads, denoting, as they did, a place and manner of burial unlike that of the savages of the plains, interested us so much. It was a leaf, we could not but think, from the lost history of the mound-builders. A noticeable feature of life on the plains is the sod-house, there called an adobe, from some resemblance to the Mexican structures of sun-dried brick. The walls of these primitive habitations are composed of squares of buffalo-grass sod, laid tier upon tier, roots uppermost. A few poles give support for a roof, and on these some hay or small brush is laid. Then comes a foot of earth, and the covering is complete. When well-constructed, these houses are water-proof, very warm in winter, and cool in summer; but when the eaves have been made too short to protect the walls, the latter are liable to dissolve under a heavy shower. During a sudden rain at Sheridan, being obliged to turn out early one morning to protect some goods, we discovered that the neighboring habitation had resolved itself into a mound of dirt, resembling somewhat a tropical ant-hill. We were still gazing at the ruins, when the owner, clad in the brief garment of night-wear, came spluttering through the roof, like a very dirty gnome discharged by a mud-volcano. While he stood there in the rain, letting the falling flood cleanse him off, he remarked, in a manner that for such an occasion was certainly rather dry--"Lucky that houses are dirt-cheap here, stranger, for I reckon this one 's sort o' washed!" A person of small capital, as may readily be inferred, can live very comfortably on the plains. His house may be built without nail or board, and his meat may be obtained at no other expense than the trouble of shooting it.