When he and Hilda saw each other last, he’d been a rich man’s son, just back from Europe, where he had been traveling with his parents. Now both Mr. and Mrs. Masters were dead.
“They weren’t my real parents, you know, Hilda,” he explained. “I was only an adopted son.”
Hilda’s heart gave a little bound; the wandering heir—the prince in disguise—was an adopted son. Pearse was going on:
“They had other children—grown and married. We’d traveled around a lot, in Italy and Switzerland. My tutor went with us. We lived in England a while, and a while in Italy; and one whole summer in Ireland; and in those places I went to school. Gee!” she heard a little gulp, “I was happy then. But Father got called home on some important business, and the next day after we landed in New York he was killed—in a street-car accident.”
“Papa was killed in a roundup,” murmured Hilda.
“Taken suddenly that way,” Pearse went on, “his business was left all at loose ends. Mother went to live with her married daughter. I felt I couldn’t go there—except to see her. They didn’t like me. Well—I guess they hated me.”
“Why would they?” Hilda bristled.
“Natural enough,” said Pearse easily. “I suppose they’d never wanted Father and Mother to adopt me—a poor little rat running away from an uncle that beat him.”
He laughed when he said that, but Hilda’s eyes were full of tears.
“Mother was sick when she went to Nelly’s house,” he went on. “She died within the month. I felt then that there wasn’t anything in the East for me. I belong to the West, Hilda—same as you do. Father had owned a share in that cattle company in New Mexico. He always said that he intended to leave it to me—or give it to me—but now I couldn’t find out a thing about how it was left. Nelly’s husband and George had everything in their hands. Anyhow, I felt sure that Father’s name would get me a job on the J I C, if I could get to them. I sold my watch and my books and some other things to get the railroad fare, depending on my own work to make good with the company, once I had the job. Had a fine opinion of myself, didn’t I?—a fellow that would let himself be taken in by such a bunch as the three I camped with that night, and get set afoot on the bald plain, with the sheriff after him—have to sneak in to a little girl like you for help! Hilda, you’re a lot better at cattle-country business than I am.”