They played until dawn began to shine through the engraved glass doors, throwing shadows in the shape of eagles on the dusty floorboards. Then they counted up what they had, and Collis found that he was $600 better off than the previous night. He stowed it all away in his satchel, and buckled it up, and as he did so, Dan McReady reached under his table and produced his white hat, with the crown still shot out. He placed it on his head without saying a word. Collis nodded in recognition of McReady’s symbolic surrender, and swallowed down the last of his drink before he left.

He played at the Eagle Saloon every night for a week, except for Sunday. Sometimes Andy Hunt and Charles Tucker were there, sometimes he played with strangers. But every night Dan McReady was waiting for him, and every night they did nothing and said nothing, but played faro, hour after hour through the smoke-filled night, until the morning.

On Monday and Tuesday, Collis lost heavily. Those nights, Dan McReady finished up by shuffling his cards with a flourish, packing away the box, and leaving the table before Collis. But on the other nights, Collis bet more and won more than at almost any time in his life, and by dawn on Thursday he had pouches of gold dust worth almost $8000.

As he put them away, he said to McReady, ‘I won’t be back for a while. I’ve got a little work to do. But I won’t forget you.’

McReady rubbed at his bristly moustache with his fingertips. His pale-blue eyes showed no expression at all.

‘You’re interested in business?’ asked Collis. ‘Big business? Plenty of financial rewards?’

McReady nodded. ‘As long as it’s nothing a man could get hanged for.’

‘Do I look like a thief?’

‘Does Parrott? Does McMullin?’

Collis smiled. ‘There’s thieving and thieving.’

McReady banged his pack of cards on the table to square them up. ‘As long as you know which kind is smiled upon, and which ain’t.’

‘I guess I do,’ said Collis. ‘So, if you’re interested, I’ll give you a call, when the time’s right, and maybe you’d like to size up what I’m planning to do.’

‘All right,’ said McReady.

The barman came across in his striped apron, his white shirtsleeves held up with armbands. The early-morning sunlight shone behind him, and he stood for a moment like a posed daguerreotype, his hands on his hips, his black cigarette hanging from his lips. In later years, in odd nostalgic moments, Collis would remember him standing there, one of the classic portraits of the old frontier.

‘Would you gentlemen like to share a bottle of French champagne?’ asked the barman.

Collis looked across at Dan McReady, then nodded. ‘I guess we would. We may have something to celebrate here today.’