“Then it comes down to a driver.”

“And horses. We would have to get four, six horses.”

“All right, get them.”

“But I couldn’t take responsibility for them,” Mr. Mendez said. “Now there are no change stations working. The same horses would have to go all the way.” Mr. Mendez shrugged. “If they don’t make it, who pays for them?”

“I buy the horses,” Dr. Favor said.

Mr. Mendez started to nod, very slowly, as if he was just understanding something. “You want to get there pretty bad, uh?”

“I have a feeling,” Dr. Favor said, “you’re going to find a driver.” He pushed up out of the chair, his eyes on Mr. Mendez. “If I went over to the hotel now and had supper, that would give you about an hour to find a man and get ready. Say six-thirty.”

“Tonight?”

“Why not?”

“I’ll see,” Mr. Mendez said.

“Do that,” Dr. Favor said. He moved through the gate, taking his hat from the counter.

“But I won’t promise you,” Mr. Mendez said after him. The Indian agent just walked out, like it was settled.

I said, soon as he was gone, “Mr. Mendez, I know I can drive it.”

“Driving a stage isn’t something you know you can do,” Mr. Mendez said.

“I’ve pulled the teams around from the yard plenty of times. And that mud wagon’s lighter than a Concord.”

“The horses pull it,” he said. “Not you.”

We argued some more, and finally I said, “Well, who else do you have?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said.

“Well, I am worrying, because I want to go too.”

He looked at me closely with those brown-stained eyes not telling anything, and I hoped my face was just as calm and natural.

“To talk to this Favor, uh? Get to know him?”

“Why not?”

“It’s all right, Carl.”

“I was thinking of some others too,” I said. “An ex-soldier who was in here. And there’s the McLaren girl.”