Let me light the lamp.
I've misplaced my boots.
I put them downstairs by the kitchen door.
I was asleep...
when you took them and did that.
Yes. Would you rather I not?
No.
Only I had intended to be awake last night
so we could talk,
which, what with how it's been,
we have not done in the peace of the evening
as I would like, since your arrival.
I would enjoy to converse in the stillness,
after the day, like that.
Tonight I will have two cups of coffee,
and I will not fall asleep.
In the morning...
in the quiet before we each take up our work,
is also a pleasant occasion for such intercourse.
Yes.
Would you like to start a discussion this morning?
I wouldn't... want to disturb the boy.
William sleeps soundly.
If you will see to the bedroom door...
Mr. Bullock?
Have I killed him?
First, the dead don't shiver.
And next, you just done what he asked.
Ain't it more likely what turned him worse is underlying woe
than a thumb up his ass attempting his fucking relief?
Go on, get the fuck out of here.
It's all right, honey.
Hello.
What's your business?
I'm Francis Wolcott.
My name's Ellsworth, Mr. Francis Wolcott.
- Can you hear me? - Yes, sir. How do you do?
- I'm well. Glad you make me out. - Yes, sir.
Because them as poke around Mrs. Garret's workings
without a by-your-leave ain't welcome, Mr. Wolcott,
and you ought not to repeat your fucking mistake.
Well, that's an uncivil response to an innocent error.
Did you work in the Comstock when you was beardless?
- I did. - For Mr. George Hearst,
as a keen eye for the color?
As a geologist for Mr. Hearst.
Well, you have the advantage of me, Mr. Ellsworth.
That ain't a possibility, Wolcott.
No more than an error of yours would be innocent.
I do dimly recall an Ellsworth...
superintended the Consolidated Virginia operations.
I don't give a fuck what you recall.
A hero. Dug a week without respite to save three poor souls from a cave-in.
And 46 corpses in a fucking hole that ought never to have been dug.
Always a choice... to count the saved or lost.
Get off this property!
Just as a man opposed to inevitable change
needn't invariably be called a Luddite,
another choice might be simply to describe him
as slow in his processes.
You tell that cocksucker you work for
the next surrogate he sends oughtn't to be bloodied from the Comstock.
The noise is terrible, isn't it, Mr. Ellsworth?
Like fate.
"Ox, box, fox."
Nora's attentions are wandering.
If I were you, I'd bribe her with candy.
Good morning.
Please come in, Miss Isringhausen.
Will you have a seat?
Do you remain of a mind, ma'am,
to dispense with my services?
I have immense respect for your training
and intelligence, Miss Isringhausen,
and gratitude for your efforts toward Sophia's education.
I am ill-suited temperamentally
to collaborate with you as women in our positions must do.
I see.
I propose to pay you six months' wages severance
and an additional $200 against the expense
of your journey here and return to Chicago.
While you're making your arrangements,
I will also continue to pay for your room here at the hotel.
As to those terms, Mrs. Garret,
your behavior is very fair.
Miss Isringhausen, Cotton Mather would have found
hard and joyless the standards
you so resolutely apply to me and Sophia,
and of course to yourself.
I wish you very well.
- Thank you, madam. - Would you...
I will not say goodbye to Sophia, to spare her upset.
Dan.
E.B. Coffee?
Please.
I'll be candid, Dan.
I did not sleep well last night.
I heard screaming from Al's room.
Happens up there many a fucking evening.
Well, Al was fucking screaming, Dan.
And I'm wondering how he's feeling this morning.
And you dancing around the pole
ain't allaying my fucking anxieties.
Well, do you hear any screams from him now?
Silence ain't proof either way.
Take no tongue with me, E.B., or I'll slap you fucking silly!
He's on the mend,
and he ain't fucking receiving.
- That's all I was fucking asking. - That's your fucking answer.
Convey my joy...
and tell him numerous scores await.
Soft fucking day, Dan.
Morning, Crop Ear. Oh... sorry... Eamon.
Take a good look. Ain't growing back.
Is he about?
Al's out early.
Looking at a place in Gayville.
Oh, yeah?
You must seize fortune by the forelock, Dan.
That's why I'm here, to put a matter before him.
You know I'll not waste the man's time.
No, you won't.
That's some fucking way you have about you, Dan.
Now, you could either say your piece to me and Johnny,
or you can get the fuck out of here.
I'll say it gladly, and hope you'll commend my words to him
who's in Gayville at the earliest opportunity.
I contemplate a piece of activity.
I need to organize some reliable fellows,
locate a right place to waylay that metal.
- Well, I'll let him know. - 25%.
One full quarter of the proceeds in total
go to Al Swearengen, the Gem Saloon,
or you and Johnny as the fucking case may be.
You may need to clean the wax out of your holes,
because I said I will let him know.
When do you suppose I could expect a favor of a response?
Tomorrow afternoon.
He's overnight in Gayville then?
Then tomorrow afternoon it is.
Getting particular of where he was gone,
I realize now,
it was a fucking mistake, which happened because I'm so fucking upset.
From this point forward, I'll handle that earless cunt.
Top two bags.
May I help you with your bags, miss?
No, you can't.
Or look at me or talk to me until I've took a bath.
Well, follow the quagmire then, ma'am.
The establishment you want is the last on the right.
Take this lady's luggage to the Chez Amis.
Yes, sir.
Do not look at her or talk to her until she's bathed.
Mr. Wolcott.
Deceptively fair weather
given the devastating rumors.
Less volume, Mr. Farnum.
More conviction.
Yes.
- Your hotel? - Yes, it is, sir.
- Your luggage? - Yes.
May I install it in one of our better rooms?
Please. Direct me to the Bella Union.
Not 50 yards as the bird flies,
or a man is led on by his prick,
or needing to test his luck.
To whom shall I assign the room?
Hugo Jarry.
E.B. Farnum, owner-proprietor.
Also mayor, though that position is largely ceremonial.
Lawrence County Commissioner.
The position is real.
Hello, Jarry. Commissioner Jarry.
Commissioner Jarry now, yes,
as of the last five days.
Delighted to find you here, Adams.
You could have known my next whereabouts
if you had talked to me in Yankton,
where I sat outside your office for half a fucking day.
It seemed to many of us in Yankton
that in the aftermath of Magistrate Clagett's disappearance,
you chose different companions.
Last I saw Clagett, he rode in here with General Crook.
I figured he left with him, too.
And perhaps was plucked up
subsequently from amidst the troops by savages?
Yes, such moonlight treachery
being their stealthy hallmark.
Maybe he took a bribe from someone,
didn't hold up his end, got his just desserts.
That's of no personal interest to me or anyone in Yankton,
any more than your choice of companions.
If you're trying to freeze out Swearengen
before the governor makes his play, you are betting the wrong way.
Someone certainly is.
Anyways, I'll tell him I saw you.
I have a close schedule. Otherwise, I'd pay the respects myself.
I wonder if you will let me pass.
I only hope, Marvin, you ain't privy to information that I ain't.
$600 U.S. Dollars, Mr. Tolliver.
Claim 16 above Discovery.
That ain't responsive to my previous fucking statement, young man.
I'll tell you what, sir.
It's the fucking altitude that's got to me.
I see.
Nosebleeds and every fucking thing else.
Well, your health's got to come first.
Leon!
Light as my kit has got,
we can go ahead and say done.
$600, Con.
Right here, sir.
Jesus Christ, don't pay it to me.
Marvin here will shoot us both.
Here you go, Marvin.
You lettered, Marvin?
I'm up to making my "X," sir.
Con, you sign as witness.
Will do, sir.
Don't be looking over my shoulder when I'm signing my fucking X!
Don't ever say that to me again. You surprised yourself.
It's what happened.
I don't want to hear it spoken of, because it darkens my thoughts.
About who you're partnered with?
Exactly.
They get led by their dicks.
Our cunts lead us, we lose our only edge.
That wasn't what was going on.
Was it worse? Were you angry at him, Joanie?
Was that what surprised you,
how angry you were
that George Hearst's second was a cruel and evil man?
Did you think maybe you'd shoot him
to get us little people even?
I took that gun into the room with me to protect myself.
Who fucking asked you to go into the room with him?
Nobody gets even. We get dead.
And before I go, I intend a long and comfortable retirement,
and that cocksucker is gonna pay the freight.
Something terrible is going to happen here.
You don't even know the girl he wants to harm.
You stay the fuck out of it.
He tipped you!
This whole place smells like shit.
It is no disloyalty to be a realist, Richardson.
We are mortal.
One hopes for the best. One perseveres.
One reevaluates constantly.
One is an asshole if one doesn't.
Loyalty expanded is not loyalty betrayed.
I contemplate no disloyalty to Al Swearengen.
I feel exposed.
I don't like being weak,
and I know that I am.
I yearn to rely on a stronger will.
I fear what I'm capable of in its absence.
Whereas you, Richardson,
know nothing of yourself.
Are you shitting or going blind?
Or on foot or horseback?
You vile fucking lump!
Bury that offal in the shepherd's pie.
Oh, God damn it.
- May I go up today? - Unh-uh.
How long is my fucking sentence?
Any messages?
Is there any fucking chance
you and me don't end up in blood?
Any of you realizing that the sun don't rise and set on me and you?
What the fuck does that fucking mean?
Means there may be other fucking factors factored into my decision-making.
Besides the fact that I find you to be a pain in the balls, personally.
Please report Commissioner Jarry from Yankton
has arrived to the camp and intends to fuck Al up the ass.
Said he to you while doing the same?
It is important that he hear that.
You do him disservice not to tell.
Listen, Adams.
Al is fucked up bad.
May be dying.
- Jesus. - Goddamn right, Jesus.
Them stones have done plumb blocked off his piss passage.
Fuck.
- Okay, all right. - It's all backed up in him.
Hey, shit, he's got piss in his lungs.
- Can he talk? - Fuck no, he can't talk.
He just lays there and shivers and stares at nothing.
He screams when Doc abuses him
with them fucking prick poles of his.
Sorry I broke your balls.
Well, I'll see to it he gets your news
if he gets to a point I think he can understand my meaning.
Listen, how's... how's your little buddy,
- the one I put the beating on? - Hawkeye.
- Yeah, Hawkeye. - He'll live.
It's something anyway.
Morning, ma'am.
- Good morning, Mr. Ellsworth. - I'm sorry I'm late.
I hope you spent a restful night.
I did. And you're forgiven.
But this morning, I note an amount of confusion...
and anxiety abound,
and words of panic about Yankton's disposition of the claims.
Panic's easier on the back than the short-handled shovel.
I see.
The Creator, in His infinite wisdom, Mrs. Garret,
salted His works so that where gold was,
there also you would find rumor.
Though He decreed just as firm
that the opposite wouldn't always hold.
You understand, I needn't be comforted
at the expense of the truth.
I'm late, ma'am, over shooing a man away
from your diggings named Francis Wolcott,
that scouts for George Hearst,
who wouldn't spare attention for a camp or the sun itself
if he didn't think it likely to fill his coffers.
Nor the sort that would shrink from a lie,
or more than one, to advance his purpose,
or be ignorant of how to circulate his falsehoods
without anyone knowing their source.
And now I come to camp
to hear the waters called muddy and the current quickened,
though I see no change in the creek.
And the "hooples,"
certain sure the flood crest fast approaches,
have begun to think keenly,
"I'll get ahead of the event.
Maybe I'll sell my claim at discount."
Anything to unharness so they can head for the higher ground.
Myself, ma'am,
I'd be betting that the levee will hold.
Did you speak of it to Mr. Bullock, Mama?
Not yet, William.
Will you speak of it today?
Good morning, Mr. Bullock.
Good morning.
Oatmeal...
Seth?
Please... Martha.
Mr. Bullock, Mother was wanting a kitchen garden,
which I would have care of.
Have you chosen a spot yet?
I paced one out in the back of the house, sir.
Yesterday, I would have broken the ground,
but from wanting the tools.
Would you like to go now and tell Mr. Star
you need shovel, hoe and a rake?
Yes, sir.
Do you recall your way to the hardware store?
I do, sir.
Is it okay if I go now, Mama?
Mrs. Garret.
Mr. Farnum.
Mrs. Garret?
What male would not trade
our small superiority of intellect
to possess that gift of intuition
so bountifully bestowed on the lesser sex?
Mr. Farnum, your meaning is beyond me.
I imagine you, madam,
awakening the other morning,
suddenly and for no earthly reason,
convinced the camp was at peril.
"My gold should be spirited to Denver,"
I imagine you thinking, maybe as you brushed your hair,
and without worrying the conviction
or studying upon it, sending the gold away.
At peril? Mr. Farnum, the camp?
Oh, your meaning is beyond me.
Ma'am, if a Nubian genie were at my disposal,
I would see his great nigger fingers
whisk up my hotel and deposit it in Denver,
just as you did your gold.
Because the camp's at peril?
Yes, Madam, yes. Peril.
And worse than peril.
Perhaps you should sell.
Mrs. Garret, had I your intuition, would I not have done.
I'll buy it.
Aren't you wonderful and kind
and intuitive and generous.
No, I couldn't burden you
nor impose upon your generosity,
tremendously wealthy as you are.
Name your price, Mr. Farnum.
We'll close the transaction now.
Madam, now you unsettle and trifle with me.
Ungh... and make me nervous and uncertain.
My intention is quite otherwise,
- and intuition. - Oh, your intuition?
Name your price.
How do you males put it...
"Shit or get off the chamber pot"?
Oh, Mrs. Garret... shit, indeed. Oh dear.
Unless, Mr. Farnum...
Unless, what, madam? Do you reconsider?
No, no.
I would understand. It's your sex's prerogative.
Unless, I meant to say, you're lying about the camp's peril?
Lying? I?
But why would you do that?
Exactly.
You will make a price for me then.
Let me... consider, Mrs. Garret.
Don't, Mr. Farnum.
Trust your instincts.
I'll have you in a dress in no time.
Miserable, haughty cunt.
Putting me beyond my depth.
We've come to a crisis, Al, and I have to say my peace.
The stones can be excised surgically
in one of two ways.
The so-called "high method,"
which cuts into the bladder from above your penis,
and the other which enters from below.
- Below what, Doc? - His balls.
So the "low" entails cutting through his 'tain't.
Now, I have seen the high method performed.
I assisted at a closing,
afterwards discussed it with the surgeon.
Come to it, that is the one that I would prefer.
- Al's with you. - How did he indicate it?
A hard blink for the upper
and a scowl for cutting through his 'tain't.
With a knife in expert hands,
two men in 10
survive the procedure we contemplate.
But at what point, without intervention,
will your condition so worsen
as to put you beyond recovery?
I believe we have approached that point.
I am not an expert,
but I will give it my best effort,
and I ask you now for your consent
should we need to proceed.
He's with you, Doc. He wants the upper.
Hey, that's it. That's the final call. Right, Al? The upper?
He wants the upper.
Well, I guess you better go make ready.
All right. All right.
Come with me, Johnny.
- Help me with the stove. - Sure. Sure, Doc.
As to claims filed and worked prior to the new treaty...
in essence from when the Hills still belonged to the Sioux...
the presumption of legitimacy will apply,
subject to qualification, according to mitigating facts.
In short, with no controlling principle being invoked,
title will be determined on a case-by-case basis.
When claims are overturned, new title will be awarded at said prices,
via lottery, to those submitting verified offers.
I only hope territorial officials
will be excluded from eligibility.
- Yes. - Better tell your friends and relatives
to pick their lucky suits out for that drawing.
Only after Mr. Wolcott's have picked out theirs.
Of course, anticipation of the forthcoming judicial holding
may itself largely cleanse the market.
It's always preferable to allow the market to operate unimpeded.
Would that argue for allowing word of my presence
to circulate a bit
before presenting myself officially?
Man might use that time to put some stink on his johnson.
Hello?
Down here. Behind the counter.
Taking inventory.
I can't do a lesson today.
All right.
He's too sick. Maybe he'll fucking die.
But I can't stay.
But it would be smart to stay
and learn to calculate interest on that accommodation paper
and those fucking discount notes
- and whatever the fuck... - Another time.
It's fine, Trixie.
- Did I hurt your shoulder? - No.
I gotta go.
Want to go out for a bit?
She says Swearengen's bad off.
Last night I heard him screaming out again and again.
I guess he's... worsened with the day.
Thanks for outfitting the boy with garden equipment.
Oh, he's planning to take some prizes come harvest fair.
He mentioned corn and squash both.
I had some news from Denver...
concerning our proposal on the bank.
We'd need to find 15% of our proposed capitalization.
If we capitalize at the two million we figured on...
$300,000 separate from what Denver will underwrite.
Or they would credit Mrs. Garret's accounts as collateral.
- Not doing that. - I don't advocate it.
I'm informing you of a communication they volunteered.
We're not doing that.
Suppose I'll have to dip into my own kit then.
Even so, it's back to cutting my own hair.
I'll take the idea around.
- Swearengen would put it up. - Fucking reputable people.
If money had to be clean before it was recirculated,
we would still be living in fucking caves.
- Your old man? - Me.
Mr. Lee will provide opium to you exclusively
for sale to whites in the camp.
You will receive 50% of the gaming proceeds from Celestials' Alley.
My men will lamp the take.
It will spare Mr. Lee here
explaining how slow business was
'cause of Buddha's wedding anniversary.
Your men lamp the take... also on proceeds from Celestial prostitutes.
How many do you want?
How many can you bring?
How many?
That sounds like a man with an inexhaustible supply.
How much English do you have, my friend?
Maybe when we get to know each other better.
I'll take a dozen, and I don't want them fucked out.
I set the rates. The upkeep's on him.
And my understanding is the upkeep is quite minimal.
Good. Gives him more to spend on mah-jongg.
I won't question
the apparent one-sidedness of our arrangement.
The arrangement is not yours and Mr. Lee's alone.
Yes, and in ways I don't understand,
it must benefit you and the man whose name I must never say
to have Mr. Lee in camp...
and perhaps Mr. Wu out of it,
maybe among the spirits of his ancestors.
But what a blessing for me,
finally to reach a point in life
where I don't feel I have to know.
A creature walking around on hind legs.
Just like Crop Ear and them half-dozen bushwhackers
out in the forest,
ones I would fall in with or out...
whatever suited my daily purpose.
That's what I was
till I crossed paths with Al.
Well, bang the drum and play the pipes
and I'll rend our fucking garments.
I was just saying...
I ain't hearing confessions this afternoon.
Say you'll burn it down with me, Dan.
What?
This fucking place...
before letting Tolliver take it over.
Done.
Well, open your mouth, Jewel,
and say something we can't fucking understand.
He's asking for you.
Don't die with your fucking secret.
Clean the number three.
Dolly said she bled.
God damn it.
I may get me a whiskey, Doc. You want a whiskey?
No, I do not want a fucking whiskey.
Well, maybe as far as steadying the hand.
How dare you? You shut your fucking mouth!
I didn't mean nothing by it.
Whiskey does not steady the hand.
It just dulls the worry
over the hand's unsteadiness.
Jesus Christ!
Jesus Christ, I do not need to kill another man!
Top left corner of my fucking bag.
- What? - Balm, you fucking idiot,
against the burn you fucking just sustained.
Thanks, Doc.
All right.
- Dan! - Go away, Wu.
- Swedgin. - No.
Swed-gin!
Well, it ain't gonna happen.
- Swedgin! - No, Wu! He's fucked up.
Now, Al can't talk to you right now,
and I can't understand you, so you go the fuck back to Chink Alley!
Do not start drawing air to talk gibberish to me!
Cocksucker.
- Oh, for Christ's sake. - Cocksucker!
It's wasted on me, Wu.
Mmm... Cocksucker! Cocksucker!
I don't get it, Wu.
I am not as smart as Al.
And there's too much on our fucking plate right now to deal with it.
Cocksucker! Cocksucker!
- San Francisco. - Jesus-fucking-Christ.
All right, there's an invisible cocksucker next to you,
and he's from San Francisco.
Cocksucker! San Francisco cocksucker.
I'm going with you... you want me to tell Al
that there's a cocksucker... he looks like...
he looks like you, and he's from San Francisco
and he's got your dander up. I'm going up now. I'll go tell him.
- Tell him what? - Oh, God only knows.
Why don't you learn to talk American!
Save us all a lot of fucking trouble!
Wu no Englishee!
Swedgin!
Mr. Adams? Good day.
Good day, Miss Isringhausen.
I can't imagine what you must be thinking at the moment.
Please, come in.
I can offer you a whiskey
or water that I just washed my face in.
I will have whiskey, sir.
Sure.
I've just been discharged. Sacked.
By Mrs. Garret?
As tutor for her ward.
Well, I hope you punched her in the nose.
This is a day of firsts.
Dismissal from employment,
unchaperoned presence in a man's room.
I'm sorry for your news, Miss Isringhausen,
but if that's your first taste of liquor,
I'm sorry for the hand you've been playing your whole life.
You mind if I drink from the bottle?
No, sir.
Oh boy.
No.
- Oh boy. - I'm sorry.
You want me to get out of here?
- It's your room. - That's okay. You're not a thief.
Or would you feel better if I shot myself?
Why do you say that?
I apologize.
It was just a stupid way of trying to be funny.
Because I fear I may be killed.
What?
I can't explain.
It's nightmarish. It's incomprehensible.
Who's threatening your life?
Mrs. Garret.
I know it sounds impossible,
but I can testify to you, Mr. Adams,
I would not be the first person she's killed.
You want I should tie him high or tie him low?
Tie him high.
Should we go ahead and put a good fucking hit of dope down him, Doc?
Yeah, go ahead and get a hit ready.
Al, I have to secure you for surgery!
What is it, Al?
He's afraid.
You afraid, Al?
You've got a fear of the knife.
He wants to try passing them stones natural.
Are you afraid, Al?
Oh God! I'm on his fucking nuts!
Goddamn smelling salts
is what we're going to administer! Do you hear me, Al?
Here is a fucking dose
of smelling salts to your nose!
- What are you doing, Doc? - Be quiet!
Sit him up and get him to his goddamn feet!
Take his prick out!
There you come, Al! There you come!
There you go! You're doing it!
There you go, you ox-minded son of a gun!
Push at it, you bastard! Push at it!
Come on, Al!
You'd do a horse proud with the strength of that fucking stream!
Lay him down. Lay Al down on the bed!
Now, we are gonna take care of this.
I'm gonna put this instrument back inside you
and clear that cocksucker you've been making progress with,
and we are not gonna cut you!
Bring his knee up to his chest.
You hold him down. Johnny, you...
- go on out to the balcony. - I have charge of the salts!
All right...
All right!
I can feel the fucking click of the gleet.
All right, now I want you to milk his prick
from top to bottom,
and I want you to bring that cocksucker down.
- That's it. Now. - Come on, Al.
All right! Look at it!
One gleet chasing a-fucking-nother!
- God... -
God bless you, Al! Thank you.
Thank you for saving me. God...
Are you uncomfortable, girls?
They're fine. You're paying them to stand in that position, Mr. W.
They'll stand in that position.
They've been in more awkward positions before.
Thousands of years ago, in Cyprus,
women went about their own lives
only after first spending time as prostitutes
at the temple of Aphrodite.
The tribute of their promiscuity
meant to secure for the island the goddess' grant
of bountiful crops and beautiful weather.
Woman's generative instrument
on the altar of the race's necessities,
have we not come some far peace since then?
Who, for example, fucks on altars anymore,
or pretends anything can make up the weather's mind?
Are you gonna fuck me tonight, Francis?
I bore Carrie.
You were peeking.
- I asked you not to look. - Sorry.
Why not just go do what you're gonna do, Mr. W?
Am I on a schedule then?
She only meant our educations can wait.
I quite enjoyed our talk the other night.
Do you want to fuck her?
No, Carrie, no.
Or I'd say so.
The atmosphere of the room turns against me.
A growing collective impatience,
where should be a haven of indulgence.
Won't you indulge me?
We're trying, Mr. W., but you are behaving badly.
Disappointing, from you who I thought to regale
with details of the myths...
gods fornicating with mortals,
the endless incest,
fathers upon daughters upon sisters...
Take her in or get out, please.
- Excuse us. - Of course.
Er, be generous.
I think I've upset her.
Well, whatever were you aiming at?
Your titties!
Any chance in here of an imminent finish, Commissioner?
My thought being you might want to deliver our newspaper editor
a certain document before he's too drunk to make it out.
I think not,
until my bath is finished.
Uh-huh.
And I think a finish would involve you
blowing some of them bubbles underwater, honey.
Whew...!
Eamon.
Has he per any fucking chance returned from Gayville, Dan,
which he had never been to?
Al's upstairs.
Now, if you agree to a few fucking rules,
I'll give you a brief audience with him.
Don't it feel good to play at "boss," Dan?
Unless you want to sit down here and bust my fucking balls
over you never learning to move amongst civilized people.
No, an audience is more important.
All right.
Now, you listen careful while we walk up.
You get up there, you propose the robbery.
You give him the location,
the take that you are prepared to guarantee,
Al's fee on that take, and then a bonus for overage.
And then, Eamon, you shut the fuck up.
Al has had a tough fucking day.
Now, you let him indicate to you however he chooses
as to a yes or a no.
Now, that's fair, ain't it?
You're a great man, Dan.
It's you that's the great one.
Don't bust my fucking balls.
Don't call me "Crop Ear," you gutless son of a bitch.
Eamon, we live life however we choose.
And you choose life as a cunt standing behind a bar.
Just trying to do you a fucking favor.
I'll have no favors from you.
All right, then. Crop Ears.
Or whatever the fuck it is you want to be called!
Trying to gauge Al's recovery and do you a fucking favor.
Crop Ears is dying up there.
You take him over to the Chinaman's and you throw him away.
Sure, Dan. Sure.
Yeah, I'll go get the sled.
I don't have the patience for this fucking bullshit!
I have had a tough fucking day!
Were you seeing a relative, Carrie,
or did the madam withhold you to frustrate me?
She doesn't tell me why she does things.
But you'd know if you were seeing a relative?
Yes. I wasn't.
Were you seeing anyone?
A wild Indian.
I fucked him and I fucked his horse.
You hate it here.
I suppose you don't.
I don't, no.
The rocks tell me stories.
And now I have you.
Well, I'm not a crazy person,
so they don't talk to me.
And I'm with me wherever I am,
so I wish I was in fucking New York.
The rocks don't "talk" to me,
but still I learn their stories.
Oh, I understand now.
Thank you for saying it like I'm a baby.
Well, uh...
these hills are unimaginably rich.
So what?
To compel even the vagrant attentions of someone like my employer.
I won't stay for any amount.
For a large amount, will you stay for a little?
Give me some now.
Of course.
It's more than I gave the madam.
And you mustn't hit me like you do the others.
You've never displeased me.
Don't fucking hit me, Francis.
Done. Agreed.
I will run away to the Indians.
You would change the course of history.
Be the first of the women chiefs.
Oh...
I'm too quick.
You can't be too quick for me.
You might try it sometimes with your prick outside of your pants.
I sense Miss Stubbs has fucked a relative.
It's a big club.
Pff-ff!