Luck seemed to have left them high and dry after the gift of the copper pipe and goods enough to brew anything that came even close to drinkable. Normally, Raylan tended to have a general bit of personal luck, but that also seemed to have gone. Still, he wasn't going to welcome the trouble he could already feel was coming and grunted a note of acknowledgement with another drink before capping the bottle.

Whatever thoughts Raylan had on the idea of townsfolk getting around any other way were forgotten at the mention of a hatch. His head swiveled over, face tight and eyes starkly more bright and alert than the easy laze they'd embodied and pushed up to his feet as Doc flicked his cigarette butt.

Waiting? No, what was that.

"Bullshit," he half growled as he strode into the house, bottle in hand to stop short at the sight of the overturned rug and hefted door. Great. Mathis taking another turn to stab at and mock his abilities as a veteran backwoods asshole of a Marshal. His jaw worked for a long moment until he was ambling forwards to stare down the hole.

It being there meant a whole host of things, none of which made him feel better or satisfied in anyway.

"This was not here before." He looked over his shoulder at Doc. "I turned this house upside down. This was not here before."