Oh yeah, that's what they'll write on his gravestone. John Henry Holliday. Outlived a ladder.

"No they would just think we got drunk again drinkin' straight out the tub," Doc says, deadpan serious. Maybe he was joking? Not all that easy to tell, though. While he does push himself up off the floor, he also takes Raylan's lower arm to pull on the rest of the way up. Slapping the outsides of his thighs, Doc dusts himself off a bit before reaching over to give Raylan's sleeve a few shakes. His left hand is still smarting even when he's just doing that, but it'll be fine in a day or two.

"To town then," Doc agrees. When he was in the tunnel with Jill they should have maybe gone further into the darkness rather than towards the light. His anxiousness wouldn't allow them to. This time he is letting Raylan take the wheel. They might be more likely to find numerous ways in and out from town than going further down Phillips River anyway, even though the tunnel seems to turn long before it reaches the end of the street.

"I don't give a damn if this tunnel leads to a year's supply of Tennessee whiskey. I'd rather be stocked up and stay snowed in the house for days than come down here to get around town."