Now that the New Yorkers were very nearly within arms reach, freedom from this goddamned pit so painfully close, Raylan was antsy for them to get on. For the singular perk of having been down here, the cons were still chewing on his bones, working under his fingernails in an urge to claw his way up and out to the fresh air. The only tell of it was the way he fidgeted with the horseshoe ring, off hand resting on cocked hips, eyes locked up at the hatch.

Everything else was forgotten - the sexual tension, the damage it would do to Malcolm, what he was going to say about it; Raylan didn't care what they left so long as they left.

"You think he'll be able to find it?" The question was for whoever wanted to take it.