The boy ran. Raylan didn't holster his gun until the boy was out of sight and the rest of the crowd dispersed. His lips pressed into a thin line that almost looked sad. Shaking his head, Raylan looked down at his arm when Jonathan called attention to it.

"It's not bad, I don't think," he said as Raylan gingerly pulled back the sleeve. "Why is it that getting stabbed always hurts worse than getting shot?" Blood had soaked through the shirt. There wasn't enough to indicate a deep wound, but more than a scratch.

"And here I thought we were going to find a nice place for lunch and not have to deal with assholes." Raylan cracked a faint grin.