The murderous glare on Vasquez's face tells Faraday that he already knows how bad of an idea this was. He's not dwelling on it consciously, but it's in the back of his head simmering that if they can't trust any town apart from Rose Creek, then what the hell does his life look like and is it worth it, being on the road like this. He can't get to his feet, awkwardly tied up the way he is, but at least he can glare.

"Cut me free now, blame me later," he snipes back at Faraday, his joy and relief at seeing him overwhelmed at this specific moment with the irritation that Faraday's words have left in him, rubbing raw like a bad wound. He wishes that the guard had been hit harder, but if he'd died, it would've been worse.

Holding out his tied hands, he shifts to his knees and one foot to stagger to his feet clumsily, waiting to be cut loose, trying to stay somewhat in the shadows. "They took my guns, my lasso," he says. "My hat," he adds, and the bag had gone too. All his worldly possessions, which probably would've been rifled through and sold if he'd been shot, hung, or arrested.

There's a terrifying swoop in his stomach and he closes his eyes briefly, wondering what future he has. It's not a good thought, but right now, he's full of bad ones.