No, most of of the office knew Tim was a sharp man but how sharp was probably beyond everyone but the core group. (And those that were with Tim when Colt made them circle the wagons, but that was beyond Raylan. It didn't change what he knew.) A lot of assholes could get through the collage to be a Marshal, but there was more to being a sniper than pulling a trigger. There was more to being a Marshal for more than a few years than passing exams.

"I stopped thinkin' in black and whites before you were born, Tim," he mutters, just loudly enough to be heard, shoulders a little lower for having to broach into all this. It was good, in the end. He needed. "Good, Evil - All about perspective. People like Boyd, Arlo.. Ain't evil, just.. stubborn, stupid, hillbilly trash."

Raylan shifted forward in his waist deep hole, fingers digging into the dirt as he propped his weight on the grave's edge, very obviously trying to mull through the rest of the suggestion. "Ain't far off from my idea of them minin' us for terror and fear. No order in that."

He shook his head and once it started, he couldn't stop it, dangerously dark eyes coming back up to meet Tim's. "We can't let that be the end answer for us. Devolvin' into that base of ourselves."

If anyone here was capable of it, it'd be them. Or Malcolm, honestly. Will Graham too, if he thought about it. Pragmatism was a terrible beast.