There was a lot about about Henry's pragmatic approach and view of it that urged Raylan's spiral to slow. If pressed, he wouldn't be able to put his finger on the no nonsense confidence of how Doc had said it all that stilled the wild edges of his psyche. It didn't stop the turn of the tornado in his head, but it helped.

Raylan stared at the floor as he listened, thumb working the backside of his ring again. He knew better than to chase an argument, speculative or not, if Doc wasn't keen to have it. It would get him no where and earn him more stress he didn't need or want. But he had his theories on why they were being pushed the way they were now.

"We didn't cause it. Mathis did," he corrected with a glance over. "Ain't nothin' wrong with the way we stored or handled that moonshine." His eyes fell back to the floor. "General store is still refillin'. I can't go into any of the houses yet to look, but Malcolm's been gatherin'. Faucets still work. We can't do nothin' about either of those things, if they run out." He failed to see the up side here.

Raylan took a deep breath and shifted his eyes to the walls where they continued to bound around from knot to feature to hook and back again as he waited for the three lobed eye to soak itself into the wood, drip it's deadly promise at them.

"No one's checked out yet, mentally speaking." However close he felt to doing so.