One of the most memorable fights in Nevada took place between Martin Barnhardt and Thomas Peasley. Peasley was a man of striking presence and fine ability. He had been sergeant-at-arms in the Nevada Assembly. In a quarrel with Barnhardt at Carson City, he had been wounded in the arm. Both Barnhardt and Peasley claimed to be “chief,”—always a sufficient cause of quarrel between men of their stamp. Meeting Peasley one day after the fight, Barnhardt tauntingly asked him if he was as good a man then as he was at Carson. “This,” replied Peasley, “is neither the time nor place to test that question.” Soon afterwards, while Peasley was seated in the office of the Ormsby House in Carson, engaged in conversation with some friends, Barnhardt entered, and approaching him asked, “Are you heeled?” “For Heaven’s sake,” rejoined Peasley, “are you always spoiling for a fight?” “Yes,” cried Barnhardt, and without further notice fired his revolver. The ball passed through Peasley’s heart. Seeing that he had inflicted a fatal wound, Barnhardt fled to the washroom, closing the windowed door after him. Peasley rose and staggered to the door. Thrusting his pistol through the sash, he fired and killed Barnhardt instantly. Falling back in the arms of his friends, they laid him upon a billiard table. “Is Barnhardt dead?” he whispered, as life was ebbing. “He is,” was the ready answer given by half a dozen sorrowing friends. “’Tis well. Pull my boots off, and send for my brother Andy,” and with the words on his lips he expired. Peasley was supposed to be the original of Mark Twain’s “Buck Fanshaw.” He was a man of the highest degree of honor, and, if his talents had been properly directed, would have distinguished himself. I resume the history of Peel, at the point of his departure from Nevada. He left in 1867, in company with one John Bull as a partner. They quarrelled by the way and dissolved partnership, but on arriving at Salt Lake City, became reconciled, and started for Helena, Montana, where Bull arrived some weeks in advance. When Peel arrived, Bull had gone to examine the mines at Indian Creek. Returning soon after, his account was so favorable that Peel concluded to go there at once. He came back in a week thoroughly disgusted, and very angry at Bull, whom he accused of misrepresentation and falsehood. Bull explained, and they parted seeming friends, but Peel’s anger was not appeased. Meeting Bull some days after, he renewed the quarrel at Hurley and Chase’s saloon. Oaths and epithets were freely exchanged, and Peel seized, and was in the act of drawing, his pistol. “I am not heeled,” said Bull, on discovering his design. “Go, then, and heel yourself,” said Peel, slapping him in the face. Bull started, saying as he went, “Peel, I’ll come back, sure.” “When you come,” replied Peel, “come fighting.”