He's laughing too hard still to catch the first bit, but when he finally manage to breathe and get up to his knees, he finds his voice again.

"You're a sport, I tell you," the gun hadn't been much of a forethought, honestly. Meyer could have shot him, he supposes, but it didn't come up as much of a concern when he thought it through. Maybe he trusts him or gives him some kind of credit-- or maybe his foresight is just a bit dim.

"Oh," he hauls himself to his feet, picking up the bullet-ridden dummy and dragging it towards the other door that's now visible.

"Come on, Wyatt Earp. This horse isn't gonna feed itself."