The cowboy clears his throat. ‘Folks, I’ve been ran-chin’ for forty-five years. I eat dust fifteen hours a day, seven days a week and it’s back-breakin’ dirty work. I got no pension, no social security worth nothing. I work jest about as hard as a man can and ain’t got a nickel to show for it. But I ain’t complainin’, cowboyin’ is a good life. Only life I ever known. Now we have Mexican fellas on the ranch from time to time and I have to tell you we was awful afraid of them at first.’ He shakes his head. ‘But I ain’t got nothing against ‘em, nothin’ at all. You see one of them fellas up on a horse and there ain’t a single muscle in his body don’t know what it’s doin’. They’re good hard-working cowboys, jest like us.’ He sits down carefully.

‘Doug’s right.’ Another cowboy, with a white moustache that fans out from under his nose like the tail feathers of a dove, jerks up to his feet. ‘No Mexican ever done me no harm.’ His neck suffuses with blood as attention shifts his way. ‘I used to keep goats and sheep, and a while back a mountain lion got into my barn and killed all fifteen of them.’ He snaps his fingers. ‘Just like that. Had a Mexican fella at the time. It was his job to look after them goats. Wasn’t his fault, mind, wasn’t anybody’s fault, but made him cry to see ‘em like that, throats all ripped out an’ bloody an’ all.’ He collapses onto his chair, retracting his neck into his shirt like a tortoise.

The mood softens noticeably. Several people, including the Indian man and his wife, nod in agreement with this.

‘Jeff?’ the compére says. ‘I know you got something to say!’

Hogan stands up. ‘Well yes, Bob, yes, I do.’ Picking up the plastic bag at his feet, he walks up the steps and crosses the stage. ‘Something to say, something to show.’ He looks keenly at the audience then takes the bag by its bottom corners and tips it upside down, spilling rubbish onto the table. ‘You know what this is?’ he asks throatily. The assembly has gone completely quiet and suddenly, to my surprise, I notice Duval. He’s slouching in the corner on the other side of the hall, his black felt hat obscuring most of his face as he works the dirt from his nails with the blade of his Leatherman.