Doc tosses the reins at Will. "Hold those," he orders, before he hops off of the cart and approaches the man's finely armored horse and grabs at those reins, keeping hold of the animal (who is frankly a bit too confused and bogged down in the mud to do a damn thing other than rear up at him, but he doesn't kick) to keep the horse from bolting.

"Not sure," he says, playfully. "Perhaps just keep him wrapped up 'till we get a chance t'check the cart? If this isn't the one, we can send 'im on with it t'run back for help."

And they'll be long gone, by then.

"Easy," he urges the mount, hand going to stroke the animal's jaw. "Easy."