[Taming the Ruffian, San Francisco Chronicle article reprinted in the New York World, January 22, 1892]

 

TAMING THE RUFFIAN.

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A Newspaper Man Gets the Drop on a Nevada Terror.

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One Who Has a Bloody Record Worsted by a Peaceful Young Man.

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            Of all the desperadoes who gained for the Territory of Nevada the distinction of the bloodiest of bloody grounds, says the San Francisco Chronicle, none other, with the possible exception of Sam Brown, ever attained to the same pitch of criminal eminence as Farmer Peel.

            He came to Virginia City from Salt Lake with a record of five murders. Within a few years he had added as many more to his score, and his comparative youth and vigor promised a long continuance of the harvest.

            He was a singular character. When sober he was as mild and pleasant a gentleman as one would desire to meet, but when in liquor he was a demon.

            But drunk or sober his Instinct was to kill. Not that he was quarrelsome, but he bore the perilous title of "chief," and had to defend it against all comers, and he was studiously careful that no one should ever get the drop on him.

            Thus, when El Dorado Johnny, a little Irishman who made pretensions to being a bad man, arrived in Virginia City and incidentally inquired in Pat Lynch's saloon if there were any " chiefs " about —

            "You probably intend that remark for me, "said Farmer Peel, who chanced to within hearing.

            "Any one can appropriate it that likes," replied Johnny.

            "Very well; we will settle it right now," rejoined Peel. "Come out into the middle of the street."

            The guileless Johnny did as proposed, but Peel paused at the doorway, and, as his rival turned to see if he were followed, fired a shot that stretched him dead in his tracks.

            Peel was never punished for any of these murders: in fact, he was never arrested for them. They were confined to a class that the authorities probably considered the more killed of them the better. At any rate they did not appear anxious to meddle with him.

            But one day he got drunk and behaved so outrageously that there was a general outcry for his arrest, which was accomplished by a large posse of officers and citizens with great difficulty. He was taken before Police Judge Davenport, who fined him $100.

            Peel said he had not money enough with him to pay the fine, but he would get it, and the Judge allowed him to go upon his own recognizance. The next morning he walked into the room while the court was in session, and advancing close to the Judge, said :

            "Judge Davenport, I've come to settle that fine."

            "Very well," replied the Judge, stroking his magnificent beard with complacency at the subdued tone of the outlaw.

            Thereupon Peel seized Davenport by the whiskers with both hands and pounded his head against the wall until he was almost insensible. Half a dozen officers were in the court, but they made no attempt to arrest the ruffian. They knew him too well. When he had done "woolling" the Judge he walked calmly out of the court-room and that was the end of it. The fine had been settled.

            Dan de Quille, city editor of the Enterprise, however, took occasion to review the whole career of Peel in the local columns of the Enterprise next morning. He did not mince matters. He pictured the character of the desperado in its true light, spoke of his misdeeds in the plain and forcible terms they deserved, and called upon the authorities to overcome this terror and bring him to summary punishment.

            The article was so bold that Dan's friends were alarmed, but it is not likely that he himself had given a thought to its consequences. In spite of the gravity of the situation the printers, in the spirit of that familiarity which exists between the editorial and composing rooms of interior newspaper offices, resolved to have some fun at Dan's expense ; so, when he took his seat at his desk that evening, one of them told him seriously there had been a party in several times during the day making inquiry for him.

            Dan asked who it was. His informant replied that be did not know for certain, but he thought it was Farmer Peel, as his look and manner appeared decidedly hostile. Dan applied himself to his work without making any comment. After his night's labor was finished, without saying a word to any one, he took a stiletto that he had picked up somewhere as a curio, the blade of which was scarcely larger than a knitting-needle, and sticking it inside the lapel of his coat as you would a pin, sailed forth from the office.

            He had accepted the printer's statement in good faith, and had made up his mind that if there were hunting to be done he would take a hand in it himself. He did not know Farmer Peel by sight, their lines never having come together. By inquiry he finally located him in a big gambling saloon on C street. He entered the place and asked the bartender to point out Farmer Peel to him.

            The obliging youth indicated a square-built, full bearded man standing near one of the tables. Without an instant's hesitation Dan approached him and stood shoulder to shoulder ; then extending his left arm he pinioned Peel to his side with the firmness of a vise, while with his right hand he drew the stiletto and held it to his throat.

            "You are Farmer Peel, are you not?" said Dan.

            "I am," replied the astonished desperado.

            "I am Dan de Quille, of the Enterprise. I understand you are hunting for me. If there is any grudge we will settle it right here.

            "I've not been hunting for you, but I'll make it very warm for any one who told you so if you will let me know who it is. There's no hard feeling on my part, I assure you. On the contrary, I hold you in high respect and esteem. You wrote nothing about me but what was true and deserved and I admire a man who is brave enough to say publicly what he thinks about a character like me."

            The desperado was so manifestly sincere that Dan released his hold, withdrew the stiletto, and apologized for his uncalled-for behavior.

            "You needn't apologize," said Peel.  You pursued exactly the right course for one who has to deal with me ordinarily.  You got the drop on me — something no man ever did before. I respect you more than ever for it. Come and take a drink with me. I want you to believe I'm your fast friend "

            And the friendship thus strangely formed remained unbroken until Farmer Peel  met his death at the hands of his old partner, Johnny Bull, in Montana.