Mr. Gibbs' pistol of choice back in those days was a Colt Pocket Auto in .32 ACP with factory pearl stocks. It was a real beauty. And, for some reason, Gibbs chose to forgo a holster and just carried the pistol in his right-hand pants pocket.
A series of residential burglaries began to occur that focused on homes on the edge of town. Some residents also reported seeing a strange-looking, bearded man wandering around in the area. Gibbs figured that the two were connected. He reasoned the stranger was probably a hobo and was camped in some woods along a nearby creek. As officers checked out the neighborhood, Gibbs eased off down towards the creek to see what he could find. What he found was more than he bargained for.
Easing through some heavy brush, Gibbs was jumped from behind by the hobo/burglar who began to beat the deputy with a stout club. When Gibbs hit the ground, flat on his back, his attacker knelt on top of him and really started pounding away.
Realizing he was about to lose consciousness, and maybe his life, Gibbs fished the little Colt out of his pocket. Pressing it into his attacker's side, he started shooting. In fact, he fired every round in the pistol, but the hobo was still pounding away. Finally, though, the blows slowed down and the attacker rolled off of the deputy and expired.
Officers rushing to the scene helped Gibbs to his feet and also helped him assess the damage to his person. As Mr. Gibbs wiped the blood from his eyes, he asked, "Where's my little pistol?"
Finding the pistol, one of the officers handed it to Gibbs. Wiping more blood from his face, Gibbs looked at the fancy gun and then threw it just as far down the creek as he possibly could.
When Gibbs was finally able to return to work at the sheriff's office, he was wearing a Smith & Wesson .44 Spl.
