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All Chinese but Wu stay put!
Wu! Wait a minute, Wu! I will fucking drop you!
Wu, get with me here!
...exactly because of this bullshit!
...or I'll blow your tall Chinese head off! Hey, Davey, open the door!
Thank you.
Wu's reappeared, Mr Tolliver.
His and Lee's Chinks went at it.
Looks like one dead apiece.
Where's the fuck did Wu reappear?
It seems to me like he just fucking materialised.
From the clouds, or in some type of conveyance?
Make me choose, I'll pick the clouds.
One minute, he ain't by his sty. Next glance, there he is.
Then one man's dead by axe. Lee's man.
One by bullet.
- Wu's. - From Lee's pistol.
Then Wu and Lee are coming after each other like stags...
until Burns drags Wu into the Gem.
Drags Wu into the Gem?
Burns does, yes, sir, pointing his pistol at Lee.
Could Wu have issued from the Gem, as well?
I wouldn't say he didn't.
Larson, that I got the dollar in with...
says he just brought George Hearst to the camp, sir.
Some as don't know better...
might mistake me for being on the outside looking in.
Then you got your idle snatch reading scripture...
and know there's still hope.
- Con Stapleton. - Yes, sir?
Situate yourself at the Grand Central...
and tell me what fucking Wolcott's doing and who he's doing it with.
Yes, sir, Mr T.
Can the bison spare you?
Something strikes me fucking melancholy about that creature.
One more fucking day!
That's all he had to control himself...
and I could have put him in fucking business.
- Swearengen... - Shut the fuck up, Wu!
At least he has an excuse. He's a Chink.
Who knows what the tribal requirements are.
Maybe you don't act for a week...
maybe they exclude you from fucking dominoes or the like.
But you!
Tipping our fucking business.
I'm sorry, Al.
You hold one Chink off at gunpoint, bring him the fuck up here.
I'm sorry.
I'm so fucking pleased I trusted you, Johnny, to go out and buy meat.
Get out of my fucking way!
Tell Hearst I want to see him.
My only reluctance, Al, I have had such an onset of diarrhoea.
- E.B. - Lf the conversation's brief...
I'm absolutely equal to the task.
What shall I invoke as your reason?
How about the fucking truth?
The Chink that attacked his Chink has been captured by my employee.
If it would please Mr Hearst, I'd like a word with him...
before I decide what to do with the Chink in my custody.
But you'd like it here?
Don't you be setting fucking terms, E.B.
He's got reason enough to want the look around.
Fine, then.
Go lock him up somewhere in the whores' quarters.
You might think to put a fucking guard on him...
that ain't asleep, you incompetent fucks.
- It wasn't my watch he escaped on, Al. - Go away, Johnny.
I was 10:00 to 4:00.
Shut the fucking door!
Would you still be willing, Mr Bullock...
to see me take up the teaching of the camp's children?
I would, yes. I'd be delighted.
Delighted.
I don't want to lose him, but I wouldn't upset them, either.
I see.
They're daunted enough by schooling itself.
Oh, yes.
I am speaking of wearing mourning until the year has passed.
But I believe...
if I teach them with love and joy...
then I won't make them afraid.
And I don't want to lose him.
You'll never lose him.
Are we done with our buying, Francis?
All but one of the important finds.
I have 40 stamps and a millwright coming in from the Ophir.
I have the mill sited, the ground tiled and levelled.
The Garret find we don't yet own is not placed to obstruct operations.
I want it bought.
I believe its title will be contested in coming months.
To act now would buy the contest and not the find.
All this fiddle fucking around is tactical back-and-forth.
We're up and running, Mr Hearst.
With the millwright and double shifts, we should be full bore inside the week.
Getting it out of the ground, that's what I love.
Thank you for handling the acquisitions, Francis.
Excuse me, Mr Hearst.
Might I escort you...
across the thoroughfare to meet a local luminary?
Will you be joining me at the operation this morning?
No. I may this afternoon.
This morning I'm conceding to my back.
Fellow looks like he stepped out of a specimen box.
Excuse me, gentlemen. Forgive me for interrupting your repast.
I'm E.B. Farnum, mayor and hotelier.
And I know you are George Hearst.
Yes?
Allow me a moment's silence, Mr Hearst.
Sir, I am having a digestive crisis...
and must focus on suppressing its expression.
What's next? Pink fucking panties or something?
Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! I can't fucking do it.
And I'll have a look at one of those pans.
Not now. Tomorrow, I'll make you a price.
This is the prospective groom for today's prospective wedding...
and I'm going to wait on him now in privacy.
Oh...
Surprised you have any trade left, often as I clear the joint.
What can't you do?
Any of it! It feels like.
These fucking mittens in particular.
"Traditional," the fucking tailor says.
Well, not in my experience, they ain't.
And if I was to imagine where they might be...
amongst males about to marry ain't what comes to my mind.
Look at these cocksuckers!
Lavender.
"The rigour in New York City," whatever the fuck that means.
Have you brought up not wearing them?
What if they're her idea?
That's liable to bring the dromedary to its knees.
Christ! I'm in mortal misery.
Anyways, today's the day.
Going to the wedding, Davey?
Not hardly, Mr Swearengen. Wasn't invited.
I was, not that I'm going.
Vicious rumours I was responsible for her first husband's death.
Fucking woman invites me to her wedding.
Guess it's no accounting for why people do things.
Congregation says amen, Davey.
- Consider the Chinaman. - Wu?
Forsakes safety and even odds in a future fight...
for immediate fucking dubious combat.
Here again, what gets into people's heads?
The congregation says amen.
- What? - Nothing. I was being funny.
No, no, no. Don't be fucking funny with me, Davey.
I didn't mean to interrupt your train of thought.
- What? - Nothing, sir.
Did you loose that Chinaman to fuck up my fucking plans?
Don't lie to me, Davey...
or that breath you're holding is the last you draw.
- Can I speak? - Go ahead.
I need to breathe.
Go take a breath.
I fucking fell asleep, sir, on my fucking watch over the Chinaman.
He didn't pay you to let him go?
No, I fell off to sleep from the holding of the three jobs.
- He told me he paid you. - Then he's a lying fucking bastard!
- Don't fall asleep, Davey. - No, sir.
- Quit a job before you fall asleep on it. - Yes, sir.
- There he is. That's Mr Swearengen. - Yes, I see.
Now I call this the impressive contingent.
- Would you be Mr Hearst? - Yes, sir.
- AI Swearengen. How do you do? - Pleasure to meet you, Mr Swearengen.
I'll suggest we adjourn to my quarters.
- Your kill, sir? - Who?
The animal.
Oh, no. Fuck, no. I'm a fucking terrible shot.
Work better closer in.
I'll stay below, gentlemen, unless you wish me up above.
- Hurt back? - Just a little achy today.
Declining years spare us no fucking indignities.
My latest blessing's a horse apple up my fucking asshole.
Half my waking hours are spent trying to pass water.
Dan, bring that Celestial to my office. I want to show him to Mr Hearst.
Very auspicious beginning.
I'd think with these balcony doors open...
you'd get a little cross draught in the summer.
I do, indeed.
I've spent the last summers in Mexico.
That fucking heat must be oppressive.
- Nevada's was drier, I'd expect. - Have you been there?
My inferno was Australia. Waste of two years, that was.
Yeah, come in.
Here we are. This yellow monkey's Wu.
Older fella. Not often you can tell how old they are.
Done a turn or two for me, Wu has.
And well liked enough among his own.
His display against your Chink...
was my first fucking inkling that he's irrational.
Mr Lee, the man he tried to kill, has worked well for me in several camps.
Then God bless Lee, and off with fucking Wu's head.
You've got your finger on the cause of it, too, your Chink being forward-looking.
"Set the bodies ablaze, on with the day's trade."
- This one, being longer in the tooth... - Set what bodies ablaze?
Custom holds stronger than what passes for his mind.
- What bodies, Mr Swearengen? - The whores for your workers.
Not only does burning the corpses save cargo space...
far as the transporting of their bones back to the homeland...
which, as I gather, they hold as their big fucking chance at the afterlife.
What a tremendous tactic, terrifying the unburned here.
Do you know prospecting, Mr Swearengen?
Fucking nothing of it.
And the securing of the colour, once found?
- Not a fucking thing. - All I really care about.
I fucking hope so. I'd hate to think you're this good...
at something that's only a fucking hobby.
Most often, my finds are in wild places, which I prefer.
When that is not so...
I want friendly relations with my predecessors...
so that I can secure the colour undistracted.
Concentration, see?
I suspect that's a key with you hugely successful types.
If others can provide here, with less disruption to the camp...
services Lee provided me elsewhere, I'd have no objection to using them.
Labour being the fucking essential?
Towards securing the colour.
This is the camp's original Chink. All subsequent Chinks were his imports.
Wu will staff your mines.
And those that survive the explosions, he can place in laundries or kitchens.
- Can he understand us? - Oh, very little English.
No. No words we've employed so far. Say "cocksucker," Wu.
Cocksucker.
That, San Francisco and Swearengen, that's all I've heard him use.
- Swearengen... - Shut up.
Now, as to your man and mine...
I would need some demonstration before making my final choice.
So your man would have to prove out.
That's a fucking mining term. Now, that's a fucking expression I've heard.
And you understand its import and context?
Yes, sir.
It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Swearengen.
Honour and a pleasure meeting you, Mr Hearst.
Kill a rooster, Wu, and offer him up in sacrifice.
Then start honing your weapons for tonight's demonstration.
Stick me one more fucking time, Jewel, I'll drop you in a pool of fucking blood.
Well, you just can't stand still.
I'm moving trying to defend my fucking self.
He's getting what he asked for, anyway.
Loony fucking Jew.
Wear this.
Devious fucking cripple, you are.
How'd you pay that time then, for the gun I sent you to buy?
Sold a piece of pussy.
How may I serve you further, Mr Hearst, be the fashion great or mean?
Make a price on your hotel. Mr Wolcott says you avoid it.
May I quibble with "avoid," sir, as inexactly fitting the case?
Not all... Get over!
Not all not-makings-of-a-price are avoidances necessarily, would you say?
What will you take?
Get away from me, God damn you!
Forgive me.
Excuse me. I am mad.
My hotel is also my hospital. I am my own warden.
I mustn't sell, lest I then wander the thoroughfare gibbering like a simian...
brandishing my privates in my fist.
Will you take $100,000 if I let you stay on as manager?
Yes, sir. I must, of course.
- I'll have it sent over later. - Well, where am I?
Why am I on my ass?
May I say to you that the week since our meeting...
has seen me conduct with Yankton an active telegraphic correspondence...
which on every count has ameliorated the terms of the proposal before you...
in favour of the Deadwood camp?
You smell like cat piss.
I have worked so hard and diligently for you, Mr Swearengen...
that well may be the case.
Regardless of the outcome, I am proud of that advocacy.
You having said that, you liable to say more?
Let the document now speak for itself.
The letters may get larger, the numbers will not.
Forgive me.
Long hours, giddy at the smell of the barn.
Stoic composure.
The next sound you hear will be that of your own voice.
Get the fuck out of here. You'll know when I've come to an answer.
I must tell you I require a response within the hour.
Or as soon as humanly possible.
Clam on a half shell looking goddamned fool!
I'm embarrassed to say I know you!
Supposed intelligent woman holding with rank superstition.
The same clothes worn to nuptials the week of a memorial...
curse bride and groom forever.
Shut up, Mose!
He asked for work here.
- As what? - Watchman is what he suggested.
We're a vacant structure, in case he ain't fucking noticed.
I think he shrinks from leaving.
And the word for that is "malingering."
Here.
- I will not. - You will.
- Is that part of the superstition? - Undergarments? Yes.
Over privates, in layers, or bride and groom are doomed.
Hearst is at that claim...
mid-thoroughfare, the one you bought from Marvin Somes.
- Still in the company of Farnum? - No, sir.
They left the Gem, conversed a bit, Farnum fell over backwards.
Hearst then helped him back to his feet, then the two parted company.
That makes a lot of fucking sense, Con. Well done.
Farnum then returned to his hotel.
They're readying for them nuptials.
You know, Ellsworth and the widow Garret's!
Guess that's the last Ellsworth will be seeing of a placer cradle.
Set for life!
Yeah.
- Davey said you wanted to see me. - Get in here.
And help me parse Yankton's proposal.
We study for our fucking lives.
Three hours in camp, going straight to exploring her vitals.
Cy Tolliver, Mr Hearst, that's acted for your interests...
at one or several removes these last couple of months.
How do you do? Did you buy me this hole?
Off Marvin Somes, sir, yes, I did.
She's out of colour, boys. Let's fill her in.
I was told to act on all offers.
You did well, Mr Tolliver. We want to be comprehensive.
I been in the mud a bit for you myself, Mr Hearst.
Got my shovel out covering work of your Mr Wolcott.
Thank you for that.
Scooped and scrubbed and cleaned up the guts and gore...
'cause I do what the business requires.
There's my hotel.
The camp elders called a meeting in the aftermath.
Barely time to wash my hands before I talked them into washing theirs.
I have been travelling, sir.
Why don't we resume after I've rested?
Well, I guess I can manage a while longer...
to keep the whiff off of him.
Suspicion, Mr Hearst, off your geologist, Wolcott...
for cutting three whores' throats.
Oh, cocksucker!
I don't know why I seek you out.
If lying in the ground you can think or have feelings...
you may hate me and my part in your fate...
as I sometimes hate you for bringing me here.
Though I know your bringing me was the end of something...
whose beginning I had as much a part of, certainly, as you.
I am afraid.
I am so afraid that my life is living me...
and soon will be over, and not a moment of it will have been my own.
And of how my body now tells me that is fine and right.
Perhaps I confide to you because you cannot tell anyone.
I am to have a child, and I have a child in my care.
He is a good man.
And he whom I love is here as well.
These walls are coming down.
They'll be your walls soon.
Ever since I was a child in Missouri, I've been down every hole I could find.
Boy-The-Earth-Talks-To.
Yeah, I've told you that's what the Indians call me.
Yes.
It talks to you, too, Francis. I know.
In our time together, your hearing has stayed keen.
But this gambler, Tolliver...
who was our agent for securing the claims...
has spoken to me about you.
He says that you killed women. Prostitutes.
That he has disposed of the bodies for you.
Well?
When I was in Campeche, you wrote a letter on my behalf.
To the Jefe de Policía.
"I am aware of Mr Wolcott's difficulty. You will find me personally grateful...
"for any adjustments you may make in his case."
What did you think that was about?
I didn't think about it. You were my agent in Mexico.
You had many responsibilities.
You asked me for the letter, and I wrote it.
As when the earth talks to you, particularly, you never ask its reasons?
I don't need to know why I'm lucky.
What if the earth talks to us to get us to arrange its amusements?
That sounds like goddamn nonsense to me.
Suppose to you it whispers...
"You are king over me. I exist to flesh your will."
Nonsense.
And to me, "There is no sin."
It happened in Mexico, and now it's happened here.
We must end our connection, you understand that, Francis?
Make a severance you think fair. You know I won't quibble.
Does some spirit overtake you? Is that what you mean by the talk?
No.
It tells me where the colour is. That's all it tells me.
My God.
This has to be a date certain. "Timely fashion" means fucking nothing.
"Timely fashion" means when they got the fix in.
So when do you want the elections?
- The sooner the fucking better. - Six weeks?
No more.
Far as bringing ringers in...
"period of residence" would be a nice shiv to stick in their fucking ribs.
And now you're using your fucking noodle.
How do we put that into words?
"Period of residence."
- Are you being smart with me? - How would you put it?
Period of residence not less than what?
Two weeks.
No one is eligible to vote...
unless they've been two weeks in the camp.
Unless committed to dump in our favour.
I'd like to get this fucking thing done.
"...has not been...
"two weeks in camp."
Now I'll tell you what the fuck else. And it makes me weep to say it.
Take out the fucking 50. From Yankton to us.
Shall I urge you to reconsider?
We get this thing off the ground...
I will be without peer of robbing these cocksuckers senseless.
I don't want the founding document recording a fucking bribe.
Strike Number 4 from the original, with disgust it was even brought up.
What else?
Summon that cat-piss-smelling fuckhead and His Holiness the Sheriff.
Commissioner! Shall we chat?
Ain't you two a fucking picture?
Trixie, you save me a trip.
You should've let it hit her in the schnoz.
Remind her of escorts in days past.
That's a gift for the bride...
from her child's former tutor in absentia.
Whirling her around is okay, Star. Just don't tread on her fucking toes.
Adams? You saw Yankton's hypocrite, huh?
Just His Holiness. Then we'll have a quorum.
Go ahead and take that to him, Captain. Thank you.
Bless you.
Bless you. Bless you. Bless you.
I'm in the day's fucking talents, Tom.
There's talk of an offer on my place.
- How will you answer? - I came to take counsel with you.
Drunk or sober, is my question.
Well, I have my wits about me, Al.
Maybe, then.
You'll want a few more, huh?
Don't talk to me in fucking riddles.
Drunk, Tom, for reasons not to do with business, you'll sell.
If that's your decision, let me offer.
Sober, you know selling's stupid.
What's my reason not to do with business?
Use your own fucking faculties.
Remorse.
Over that boy that was not your fucking fault.
Again?
Not right now.
Ellsworth and the widow Garret.
What odds would you have made on that?
Every so often there's a love match.
Isn't it time to start the ceremony?
And now, my dear lady...
shall I part thou leather lips?
It's the damn underwear.
"Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God...
"and in the face of this company...
"to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.
"Which estate, instituted of God at the time of man's innocency...
"signifying unto us the mystical union...
"that is betwixt Christ and his church.
"Therefore, not to be entered into lightly...
"but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in fear of God.
"If any man here can show just cause...
"why they may not be lawfully joined together...
"let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace."
"Whitney Conway Ellsworth...
"wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife...
"to live after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?
"Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her...
"in sickness and in health...
"and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her...
"as long as ye both shall live?"
I will.
"Alma Russell Garret...
"wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband...
"to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony?"
I will.
Continuing.
"Wilt thou obey him and serve him...
"love, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health...
"and forsaking all others...
"keep thee only unto him as long as ye both shall live?"
I will.
Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?
I do. Both.
Say after me, "I, Whitney Conway Ellsworth..."
"...vow to love, cherish and protect..."
"...till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance..."
"...and thereto I give to thee my troth."
Say after me, "I, Alma Russell Garret..."
"...vow to love, cherish and obey..."
"...till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance..."
"...and thereto I give to thee my troth."
The ring?
"With this ring I thee wed."
"Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder."
"For inasmuch as Alma and Whitney...
"have consented together in holy wedlock...
"and have witnessed the same before God and this company...
"and thereto have given and pledged their troth, each to the other...
"and have declared the same by giving and receiving a ring and joining hands...
"I now pronounce that they are man and wife."
We ask you all to join us...
for collation and dancing in the thoroughfare.
Shit!
- What's so fucking funny, Jenn? - Nothing.
Who are you fucking clapping orders at, Wu? You only got us on loan.
Oh, for Christ's sake!
I guess in for a penny, in for a fucking pound.
Swearengen.
He wouldn't allow it if I went up and ask him.
Swearengen!
You wanna swap masks?
- What the fuck you looking at? - I wasn't fucking looking at you!
Mr Ellsworth, was I right about the gloves?
Full and final payment, Mr Tolliver...
for what service you conceive you rendered me.
The Lord himself would testify to me having served you, Mr Hearst...
and to what should be my just reward.
Is that the cocksucker addressing us from the fucking whirlwind?
"George Hearst, Cy's just reward...
"every claim he helped you buy, he's in for 5%.
"Cy, as I'll sometimes be busy elsewheres...
"take your own fucking precautions you're fairly treated.
"Should George try to fuck you, Wolcott's letter gets broad circulation."
Tell me what letter you mean.
George asks what letter you refer to, Lord.
"That you, Cy, before you disposed of them whores...
"made that murdering geologist write...
"once he told you George knew of his habits."
Disturb you, being in the public eye?
Some don't mind. Fuck, some men like it.
- But I wonder if you're among them. - Stop moving your hand, sir.
I mean you no harm, but I can't speak for Captain Turner.
"Put your hand down, Cy." I hear you, Lord.
The press being sold-out cunts, it hardly matters that a story's true.
But one like this, that is...
sporting a man like you and a fucked-up geologist...
and whores dug up from shallow graves with their throats slit from ear to ear...
and the same to their poor privates.
What's that, Lord?
Would you, Lord?
You dirty-minded cocksucker.
He says he'd follow a story like that himself.
5%. Your interests seen to by one that controls his appetites.
You'd first want to know from Wolcott if there is a letter.
You got your quiver full of words again, don't you?
I found him in the woods. All's he could say was, "I'm sorry."
First I knew Andy, all's he could say was, "Deal."
Davey, tell Merrick to go ahead and print.
Fraught with contingencies, chief, is our fucking electoral process.
Will His Holiness climb into a bottle or pursue the widow, stiff-pricked...
the miles to her Hot Springs honeymoon?
Who'll bear the locals' banner then, huh?
Most men, Andy, once they've brought one fucking plague to the camp...
would lay the fuck off.
Not you! No, you're gonna bible-talk my whores.
God is not mocked, Cy.
You've got a pestilence for every fucking occasion!
God is not mocked, you son of a bitch!
He fucking gutted me.
See to him, honey.
I ain't gonna die.
Don't let me die.
Welcome the fuck back.
- Miss Stubbs. - Mr Utter.
They dance on, chief, however much at home...
as at yours and mine, comfort and love await.
Unhurt, it appears.
Don't hold for them that went against us.
I should hope fucking not.
How'd he fight?
He gave a good fucking account, did Mr Wu.
Lee?
San Francisco cocksucker.
Well done, then, men.
And well done, Adams. The day's full course, indoors and out.
Thanks, thanks.
You saved my bacon in that fucking alley.
- Jesus Christ! - Fucking Adams.
- Swearengen! - All right, Wu.
Wu America!
That'll hold you tight to her tit.
Elections! Elections are coming!
Territorial governor agrees to local elections!
Elections are coming!
Don't you have a fucking home to get to?
I believe it's to your fucking right.
Hey, we ain't done fucking dancing!