Uncertainly, the man took his white hat off and gave it to Charles, who passed it to Collis. Collis held it up by the brim and then looked across at the dealer, the pistol raised in his hand, as if he was sizing him up for one neat shot between the eyes. The dealer unconsciously wiped the back of his hand across his mouth.

Completely by surprise, Collis squeezed the revolver’s trigger and fired through the top of the hat, upward into the ceiling. There was an ear-splitting bang, and the crown of the hat burst apart in black tatters. Almost everybody in the saloon, with the exception of the pianist, who was too fat, and one or two people who were too shocked to move, huddled in a rush under the tables.

Collis was trembling with tiredness and the strain of the game he was playing. But he handed the dealer’s hat back to him with great control and calmness, and said, ‘There. Put it on.’

The dealer examined the hat unhappily and then put it on his head. He looked like a hobo, or a giant firecracker that had failed to light properly. There was a ripple of laughter around the saloon, and a sudden relaxation of fear.

‘What’s your name?’ Collis asked the dealer.

‘Dan McReady.’

‘Where are you from, Dan?’

The man coughed. ‘Vermont, originally. But I did time on the riverboats.’

Collis handed his revolver back to him. ‘Well, Dan,’ he said, so quietly that only Charles and Andrew could hear him, ‘I guess we were all raw once, and all strangers to San Francisco, and I guess that we were all taken advantage of, now and again, because we were green. But I hope what I did to your hat is going to be a permanent reminder of something, and that is, just because you’re green, it doesn’t mean you’re yellow.’

Dan McReady dropped his gaze.

‘I’m going to take my money now, and I’m going off to get some sleep,’ Collis said. ‘But I hope you’ll be here tomorrow, because I have an outstanding bet with you, four to one, and I want to make sure I get what’s coming to me.’

There was a difficult silence. Then Dan McReady looked up again, and he was smiling, although he was plainly doing his best not to.

‘You son of a bitch.’ He grinned. ‘You goddam son of a bitch.’

They shook hands, and the pianist suddenly burst into ‘Dear Old Home of Mine’, and Charles sat there shaking his head as if he’d just witnessed a tornado pick up a house and put it right down again without so much as disturbing the flowers in the front yard.

Collis woke up at ten. He could hear a clock chiming somewhere. He sat up in bed, his hair tousled, and blinked at the brightness of the primrose-draped windows. Then, his head beating with a hangover, he climbed out of bed and walked across to the washbasin. This must be civilisation, he thought to himself, examining his face in the mirror. Nothing else but civilisation could give anyone such a goddam terrible headache.