"Got a whole gang of 'em," Doc quips. "Course, Henry ain't very fast and Chavez would rather use knives, and Tommy's just a..."

Doc catches the slip a half second too late and something's behind his eyes that wasn't there before.

A heartbeat, maybe two.

"And Dave, well. He's just too damn cocky for his own ruttin' good."

Doc idly draws the pistol from the holster at his hip and spins it on one finger, watching the iron flash (it's dull, the metal worn from use) in the low light.

"But Billy...now Billy's just got style. Hate to admit it, cause he's fuckin' crazy," he adds. "But he's quick."

A look up at Ben.

"And I'd appreciate that -- thank you, sir."