About the first work of any note undertaken in connection with the new
town was the building of a bridge across the Arkansas. This was
accomplished in 1860, when a charter was obtained from Kansas and a
structure of six spans thrown across the river. It was a toll-bridge,
and every crossing team put at least one dollar into the pockets of its
owners. But trouble soon overtook the management. While one of the
proprietors was in New Mexico, building a mill for Maxwell upon his
famous estate, the other was so unfortunate as to kill three men, and
was obliged, as Steph Smith felicitously expressed it, to "skip out."
Thus the bridge passed into other hands, where it remained till it was
partly washed away in 1863. The following little matter of history
connected with its palmy days will be best given in the narrator's own
words: "We had a blacksmith who misused his wife. The citizens took him
down to the bridge, tied a rope around his body and threw him into the
river. They kept up their lick until they nearly drowned the poor cuss,
then whispered to him to be good to his wife or his time would be short.
He took the hint, used his wife well, and everything was lovely. That
was the first cold-water cure in Pueblo, and I ain't sure but the last."
This incident serves to illustrate the inherent character of American
gallantry, for, however wild or in most respects uncivilized men may
appear to become under the influence of frontier life, instances are
rare in which women are not treated with all the honor and respect due
them. Indeed, I have sometimes thought that the general sentiment
concerning woman is more refined and reverential among the bronzed
pioneers at the outposts than under the influence of a higher
civilization.

The Arkansas, ever changing its winding course after the manner of
prairie-rivers, has long since shifted its bed some distance to the