Notes: I brought in a couple of characters from the season 7 Bonanza episode Her Brother's Keeper. I have this insatiable love of certain oneshot characters (as evidenced by the fact this story exists at all!) and Carl and Claire Armory fascinate me. I have a sort of story for them after the end of the episode that finally enables Carl to get on his feet and brings them both into contact with James Jeffers. Hence, they fit in nicely here. This is probably their only appearance in this story, unless I find later that they have some other part to play.

Chapter Four

The search for James Jeffers across San Francisco proceeded for hours without any significant leads. It was late afternoon before even a smidgen of something interesting happened, but in the end both Jim and Arte had a certain kind of luck.

Jim ended up standing outside a pleasant and fairly well-to-do house with white trim. As he passed through the gate and up the walk, the front door opened and a blond man stepped onto the porch.

"Hello," the man greeted. "Can I help you?"

"I don't know," Jim said. "I'm James West, United States Secret Service. I'm wondering if you might have seen this man wandering aimlessly around town." He took out a small photograph that Betsy had given him. "He's hurt and might not be acting like himself."

The man stared at the picture in disbelief. "Why, that's James Jeffers," he gasped.

Jim's eyes flickered with surprise. "You know him?"

"Yes. Yes, I most certainly do. I'm Carl Armory. Mr. Jeffers is a good friend of mine." He looked to Jim with worry and concern. "What's wrong, Mr. West? How was he hurt?"

"It's a long story," Jim told him. He peered at Carl. "I'm sorry, I have to ask. Haven't you seen the newspaper this morning?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Carl said. "My sister Claire probably has; she brings it home with her from work. But I . . . I don't want to wait until then." Almost automatically he raised a hand to his throat, as though he was having difficulty breathing. But he rushed on, "Mr. West, please tell me what's wrong."

Jim considered the request, and the man, and finally nodded. Maybe Carl Armory would be able to give him some more clues, if he and Jeffers really were close friends.

"Alright," he consented. "Let's go inside and talk."

xxxx

Arte managed to get almost to the edge of town and the docks without finding anyone who had seen Jeffers. But when he showed the photograph to a plump woman tending her flowers, her eyes grew twice their size.

"I did see him!" she cried. "And he was stumbling around, just like you said. But it wasn't last night, oh no. It was this morning!"

Arte was stunned. "Did he say anything to you?" he asked, struggling to get over his bewilderment.

"I tried to get him to, but he acted like he didn't hear me. I'm telling you, he was in a bad way." The woman shook her head as she rearranged the roses in a glass vase. "Walked off down the street, he did. Staggered around a corner and then was out of sight. I couldn't go after him; I had a customer. And when I could finally go look, he wasn't anywhere!" She looked at Arte in concern. "What's wrong with him?"

"Well, I'm afraid I don't fully know, Madam," Arte said. "He received a head injury last night. From your description, he may have still been suffering from the effects of that." He touched the brim of his hat. "Thank you for your time."

He hurried down the street and around the corner. When he came back, perhaps he would give the good woman some business and purchase a bouquet of flowers for dear Betsy. She certainly deserved something cheery.

The flower vender was right; Jeffers was nowhere to be seen. But, undaunted, Arte continued to the next street. If Jeffers had been in this general area, someone else surely must have seen him too.

There was an alley on this street. Arte hastened to it, peering down the narrow pass. If Jeffers had come that way, he was gone now. And there was certainly a lot of assorted junk scattered around. Arte stepped inside, casually glancing over it.

The sight of a torn piece of dark cloth, stained with blood, gave him pause. He bent to pick it up, examining it with a deep and curious frown. Had this belonged to Jeffers? How had it gotten torn off? Had there been a struggle with someone?

He was about to walk on when the glint of something else caught his eye. Again he reached to the ground, this time drawing up a golden band. He turned it between his fingers, squinting at the inside. There was no inscription.

Tossing the ring in the air, he snatched it back and dropped it into his pocket. This he followed up with the rolled-up cloth.

He would run both items past Betsy and see if she could identify them. He had the vague remembrance that Jeffers still wore his wedding ring despite his wife's death. Although even if Arte was wrong and Jeffers did not, he might have still had it on his person. It was worth a try, anyway.

Currently it was all the evidence he had that Jeffers had been in this alley.

xxxx

The orange tabby cat that had torn the piece of cloth from one of the thugs had abandoned the alley as soon as the two cruel men had dragged Jeffers away. Determined to keep him in its sights, it had followed the stage all the way to Dr. Loveless's hideout, where it had paced, looked in the windows, and meowed in annoyance at being kept out. Once the stage was ready to leave again, and Jeffers walked out of the building to get inside, the cat jumped into the baggage rack on the roof. It would hide there and wait and watch.

The drive to the house was long and tense. Jeffers hated every moment of it, shadowed by Loveless and one of the men while the other sat up front and drove.

And he hated the thought of the deception he would have to pull when they arrived. Betsy would be worried sick. How on Earth would he explain his disappearance, and reappearance, without mentioning anything about Loveless or his gang?

Well, he supposed he could say he had been wandering around in a stupor. That had been true for some of the time, anyway. But she would wonder what he wanted with that envelope all of a sudden.

What did Loveless want with it? What was in it that was so important it made the double take it from Loveless and want it for his own? And why hide it with Betsy? Why not use the contents right then?

He clasped his hands over his knee. He had hated being branded the crime lord over the boll weevil operation when it wasn't even so. But now he was going to assist the crime lord. In the end, that would make him a criminal even if he was only trying to save his daughter. He couldn't let anything happen to her.

But if something went wrong and something happened to him, it would be a horrible blow for Betsy. She already thought he was dead. Then she would find him alive, and not a crime lord, only to discover that he was now involved in something else illegal.

And what guarantee did he have that Loveless would even keep his word? The man was insane. Jeffers remembered all too well the plot to take over half of California.

He spun to face the bad doctor, his eyes flashing. "You said that if I do what you want, and bring you the envelope, you'll let Betsy and I escape the city," he said.

Loveless gave him a bored look. "Yes, I know."

"I don't have any way of knowing that you won't just have us killed anyway," Jeffers retorted.

Now Loveless perked up, his expression changing to insulted disgust. "Mr. Jeffers, I am many things, but a liar is not one of them!"

Jeffers met his unwavering glare, searching for any hint of truth. "Maybe you are, maybe you're not," he said. "It's hard for me to really know what to believe."

"Ah, but you don't have a choice but to believe me," Loveless sneered. "That's why you were willing to go along with the ransom plot—even though you didn't know then that I was behind it. And it's why you're going to work with me now. You're weak, Mr. Jeffers, just as I surmised."

"Is it weak to love someone and want to protect them?" Jeffers shot back, bitterly.

"In some cases, no. But in many cases, yes."

The stage slowed and stopped as they pulled up in front of the mansion. Loveless gazed out at it, smirking. "There, Mr. Jeffers. Inside you will find your daughter and ask her about the paper."

Suddenly he stiffened. A scruffy man was coming from around the side, his visage grim.

Jeffers was bewildered. "What is it now? Who's that?" he demanded.

Loveless opened the door of the stage. "Something went wrong," he tossed over his shoulder. Then, to the lackey, he said, "She isn't here?"

A shake of the head. "She's with her aunt in town. I had to beat up the butler to get him to talk."

"What?" Now Jeffers was furious. He moved to get out of the stage, but the man next to him shoved a gun in his ribs.

"You don't move," he growled. "Not now."

Jeffers regarded him in repulsion. His thoughts were spinning. But when Loveless spoke again, he snapped to attention.

"That's a shame. I was hoping we could avoid such rough and unseemly methods. How badly did you have to hurt him?"

A shrug. "He's still alive. I left him moaning in pain, though."

Loveless spun back to the stage and climbed inside. "Do you remember where Karen Jeffers' house is?" he asked of the driver.

"Yes, Sir," was the nodded reply. "It won't take long to drive over there."

Jeffers looked to Loveless in angry disbelief. "How does he know where Karen lives?" he cried.

Loveless pulled the door shut after him. "Why, Mr. Jeffers, you should know the answer to that. Or at least suspect. After all, we've been observing you and your little family for weeks."

Jeffers glared. With the cold gun's barrel still poking him in the side, there was little he could do at the moment other than sink back into the seat and wait out the ride.

And ask questions. He had plenty more.

"How will Betsy and I get away without Karen knowing? She'll be right there."

Loveless was unconcerned. "Oh . . . you'll think of something," he said.

"You'd better not hurt her," Jeffers growled.

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Jeffers."

Jeffers was unconvinced. His heart raced wildly as the stage rode through the streets.

What kind of mess had he and his family been thrown into? And how were they ever going to get out?

xxxx

Jim looked to Carl Armory as they sat in the living room, across from each other in chairs. "Mr. Armory, how long have you known Mr. Jeffers?" he queried. He had decided that before explaining anything, he wanted to be surer of this person's background. It was getting harder to tell who was a friend and who was a foe.

Carl looked slightly uncomfortable. "Several years now," he said. "My sister and I . . . well, we've moved a great deal. San Francisco is sort of our home base, so to speak. We always seem to end up returning here. We came back again after a brief stay in Virginia City, Nevada. My sister was badly injured shortly after our return. While I was nursing her back to health, I met Mr. Jeffers. He helped us both immensely, Mr. West. I . . ." He shook his head. "I don't know how we would have gotten through that without him."

"And you've been friends with him ever since?" Jim prompted.

"Yes." Carl leaned forward, impatient. "Now, Mr. West, will you please tell me what's going on? What's happened to him?"

Jim sighed. "At the moment, I'm not sure. My partner and I know he was injured last night, but that's about it. We thought we'd discovered that he was the head of a criminal operation, and was then killed by one of his henchmen, but it's looking more and more as though that may have been someone else." He stayed on guard as he spoke. Carl seemed harmless enough, but he could change personalities in an instant. Jeffers had. Or had seemed to, at least.

Upon hearing the news Carl leaped to his feet. "Of course it was someone else!" he burst out. "Mr. West, the very thought of him being part of . . . well, anything illegal, is preposterous!"

Jim stood as well. "I'm glad to hear you feel that way," he said. "I need you to think carefully. Was there ever any time when Mr. Jeffers acted strange?"

Carl shook his head. "I don't know what you mean."

"It could have been any number of things," Jim said. "Maybe he didn't remember something he should have. Maybe he acted brusque or harsh where normally he wouldn't."

"No one's perfect, Mr. West," Carl said with a sigh. "If he forgot something or acted rude once or twice, I don't think I'd remember."

"Carl?"

Both men looked up with a start as the door opened. A red-haired woman stepped into the room, her bag in her hand and a paper under her arm. She regarded Jim and then Carl in perplexity. "Carl, what's going on here?" There was a slight hint of concern in her voice, unless Jim imagined it.

"Oh, Claire, we have a guest," Carl hurried to explain. He crossed the room and took the woman by the arm, bringing her over. "Claire, this is James West, a Secret Service agent. Mr. West, this is my sister Claire."

Jim smiled. "Charmed, I'm sure."

Claire was worried; there was no mistaking the look in her eyes. "Mr. West," she stammered. "I . . . I'm surprised. I didn't think the Secret Service would ever be paying a visit to us." She shot a questioning look at Carl, who responded with a faint shake of his head. "I hope there isn't any trouble."

"Oh no," Jim said. "Nothing that involves you or your brother, Ms. Armory, except in your capacity as friends of James Jeffers."

Claire rocked back. Whatever she had expected to hear, that was not it. "Mr. Jeffers?" she gasped. Instantly her gaze flew to the newspaper she was carrying.

"It's alright, Claire; I know what that paper says," Carl put in. "But I don't believe it, not for one minute. And Mr. West tells me that he and his partner believe it wasn't Mr. Jeffers who ran the criminal operation they shut down."

Slowly recovering, Claire placed the paper and her purse on the table. "Of . . . of course it wasn't," she said. "It couldn't have been."

"If it wasn't, then that means the real James Jeffers has to be found as soon as possible," Jim said. "He could be in serious danger right now. If he's still alive."

Claire clenched a fist. "We're both very good friends of Mr. Jeffers," she said. "Please, Mr. West, if there's anything we can do . . ."

"I was just asking your brother if he could remember a time when Mr. Jeffers acted strange," Jim said. "It could indicate that at that time it was actually this possible double and not Mr. Jeffers."

"I heard some of that conversation, Mr. West. And I do remember a time when he acted odd. It wasn't that long ago, either."

Carl blinked. "Claire, you didn't mention anything like that."

"I know." Claire sighed. "First I thought I was hearing things. Then I thought it just wasn't important. But a couple of weeks ago I came across him leaving his office. He was talking to Tom Cass, that poor worker who was killed. I heard him say something about boll weevils."

Jim snapped to attention, while Carl looked befuddled. "Boll weevils?" the blond man frowned, dubious. "Why would he care about . . ."

"The criminal ring was smuggling boll weevils, Mr. Armory," Jim interrupted. "Like I said, it's a long story." He turned back to Claire. "Did you hear exactly what he said?"

"I did. He told Tom Cass not to come there to talk about boll weevils ever again." Claire frowned. "Tom agreed and left. Then I went over and asked him what they were talking about. He looked . . . well . . . as though he was alarmed that I'd heard it. He said that Tom had been down in Mexico and was telling him about the boll weevil problems down there. He said he didn't want to hear about it because it was sickening."

"And you didn't believe him," Jim said.

"Well, yes . . . but I still thought it seemed strange," Claire said. "And then I read the paper today and it mentioned the criminal organization was trying to smuggle boll weevils into the United States and all over the world." She looked down. "It all made a horrible sense then."

"Did you think Mr. Jeffers was guilty when you read the paper?"

"What could I think?" Claire threw her hands in the air. "The reporter even wrote that he had been killed by one of his underlings in the warehouse that burned. It was terrible." She turned away. "I've been dreading returning home to tell Carl about it. Then I came and found a stranger in the house. . . . I'm sorry, Mr. West, you must have thought me rude."

"Not at all," Jim said with a smile and a nod. But he did wonder if that was the only reason she had been worried upon her entrance. "What happened after he said he didn't want to talk about boll weevils?"

"Oh . . . I told him he didn't have to worry; I didn't want to talk about the wretched things, either. He laughed and said 'Good', and told me he was sorry, but he had to hurry off and see about something to do with his job. So we parted ways."

"And you don't remember any other time when he acted unusual like that?"

"No."

Carl spoke. "If that's the sort of thing we're talking about, I remember something too." The others turned to look at him. "It wasn't much, really, but a few days ago I was looking for Tom Cass. We, er . . . occasionally played cards together. When I asked Mr. Jeffers about him, he said that Tom was missing. I asked him how long it had been and he said a day or so. The police had been contacted, but Mr. Jeffers didn't hold out much hope."

"And exactly how long ago was this?" Jim queried.

"It must have been almost two weeks," Carl said.

Jim frowned. "Then that was before my partner came to talk to him," he said. "And he professed to not have any knowledge that Cass was even missing."

Claire stared. "Mr. West, what does it all mean?"

"I don't know," Jim admitted. "For his daughter's sake, I hope it means he's guiltless and that someone else is at fault." He took up his hat. "Thank you both for your time. I should be going now."

"I'll walk you to the door," Claire offered.

That was fine with Jim; it gave him the perfect opportunity to quietly ask her one last thing. As they arrived at the doorway, he did.

"Ms. Armory, was what you said the only reason you were nervous when you came in?" He kept his voice low.

She stiffened a bit. "What do you mean?"

"I had the feeling that maybe you thought I was here about something else."

Claire shook her head. "No, Mr. West. I couldn't imagine why you were here." She started to open the door. "I hope you find Mr. Jeffers safe."

Taking the hint that the conversation was over, Jim nodded. "I hope so too. Good evening, Ms. Armory."

Claire watched him walk out and down the steps. Sighing, she shut the door behind him.

"You thought he was here about me, didn't you?"

She started and turned, facing her brother in surprise. Carl, most definitely not surprised, had paused on his way to the kitchen. Guiltily she averted her eyes.

"I didn't know, Carl. I didn't think you'd ever been in enough trouble to bring the Secret Service down on our heads, but for a horrible, brief moment, when I realized who he was I wondered."

"And before you knew who he was, you thought he might have been part of a new scheme I concocted."

". . . Yes," Claire admitted in resignation.

Carl walked over to her. "That's all over now, Claire," he said. "I've finally, at long last, changed. And it was largely because of you and James Jeffers that I have."

Claire managed a smile. "I know. And I'm sorry for doubting you, Carl." Then she was downcast again. "Oh, I wonder what's happened to poor Mr. Jeffers."

"I wish I knew," Carl said sadly.