The rope was a good "grass" rope worn smooth and hard with much use.
Luck flipped a match stub out into the dust of the street, tilted his small Stetson at an angle over his eyes, went over to the horses, and looked at their brands which had been hidden from him.

One was a Flying U, and the other bore a blurred monogram which he did not trouble to decipher.

He turned on his heels and went into Rusty's place.
On his way to the bar he cast an appraising glance around the room and located his men.

Here, too, a less experienced man might have blundered.

One, known to his fellows as the Native Son, would scarcely be mistaken; his dress, too, evidently matched the silver-trimmed saddle outside.