[ He definitely didn't do much in the way of heavy lifting – in practice, all he did was pull insistently, but he feels pretty good about himself as the guy gets to his feet. Until he starts talking, or – continues talking. Naught but itself... Why is Raylan always saddled with the guys who sound like they ate a thesaurus shortly before saying hello to him? And maybe he has a point, that a sword is kind of an unlimited resource as long as you're still holding it – but the ideal here is to get somewhere that isn't going to demand the kind of close-quarters fighting that a sword would be useful for. ]

Alright, Zorro, you can go ahead and swing your sword around as much as you want, just don't hit me with it, huh? Now let's go.

[ Now he does look back over his shoulder, and he can see it. It's ambling very slowly up the street Raylan's just come from, a dark and dusty grey figure, though it's visible primarily because of the old gas lantern it's holding out ahead of itself. The lantern casts a sickly yellow glow which congeals unpleasantly with the red tint to the light everywhere else. A knot tightens in Raylan's gut. ]