That smile said a lot, didn't it? Grim determination mixed with sarcasm, the casual admission that there could be no final victory except to see that fate was indeed a joke on him and he was determined to see the humor in it. This detached amusement at the rather random swaths cut by the Reaper, Coburn holding his own despite the odds, the blade of the knife held high in the desert sun, the final shock that froze the grin, the knife stuck in the wood. Quivering, then still.