The infantry sergeant in command of the little party tried to wheedle Case out of his whim, but it was useless. Back he would go, and they, half supporting, had to go with him. From the drawer of the battered old table he drew the missing weapon to light, and it stood revealed--one of the famous Colt's 44, made soon after the Civil War to replace the percussion-capped "Navy" carried by most officers of the army until late in the '60's. In the hands of the cavalry at the moment, and for experimental purposes, were nickel-plated Smith and Wesson's of the same calibre, and nearly the same length of barrel, also one or two other patterns of the remodelled Colt. But, as Case said, this was a special make and model, differing slightly from any that Sergeant Joyce had ever yet seen; but not until later did the sergeant or his comrades attach any significance to Case's statement, "there's only one at Almy just like it." His weapon recovered, his mental balance slightly restored, and with the further inspiration of replenished flask ahead, Case made the difficult essay to tramp the two sandy miles back to the store and the still more difficult task of there accounting for himself and explaining his enigmatical sayings. Strong, as directed, strove to keep him to the point, but the one more drink Case declared indispensable on his final arrival at dusk sent flitting the last filaments of reason, and the poor fellow maundered off to sleep on his little cot in the darkened room, where he was bolted in and left for the night. "Only one pistol like it at the post, and that--isn't at the post," Strong found himself repeating again and again that night, as, after Mrs. Archer and Mrs. Stannard had read their patient into a doze and taken their departure, the adjutant stood for a moment by Willet's bedside. "And now Willett has lost his, and presumably the Tontos, or perhaps the Apache-Mohaves, have got it!"