bridles, and, if you know the earmarks, you can learn a good deal about a
rider just by looking at his outfit. Neither saddle was new, but both
gave evidence of a master's pride in his gear. They were well-preserved
saddles. They had the conservative swell of fork that told Luck almost to
a year how old they were. One, he judged, was of California make, or at
least came from the extreme southwest of the cattle country. It had a
good deal of silver on it, and the tapideros were almost Mexican in their
elaborateness. The bridle on that horse matched the saddle, and the
headstall was beautiful with silver kept white and clean. The rope coiled
and tied beside the saddle fork was of rawhide. (Luck did not need to
cross the street to be sure of these details; observation was a part of
his profession.) The other saddle was the kind most favored on the
northern range. Short, round skirts, open stirrups, narrow and rimmed
with iron. Stamped with a two-inch border of wild rose design, it pleased
Luck by its very simplicity. 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. But Andy Green, in blue overalls turned up five inches
at the bottom, and somewhat battered gray hat and gray chambray shirt,
might have been almost any type of outdoor man. Certain it is that few