All language subtitles for Deadwood - S01E01 - Deadwood.eng

[THEME MUSIC PLAYING]

Is that some sort
of a letter, Marshal?

-Journal.
-Journal.

Good.

You know, I was goin'
to Deadwood, same as you.

-Is that so?
-I had my plans about set.

I only wish to Christ I could get
these past three days back.

I can imagine.

No law at all in Deadwood,
is that true?

Being on Indian land.

So then you won't be a marshal?

Taking goods there to open
a hardware business, me and my partner.

If I'd have got there,
I'd have been prospectin'.

Jesus Christ Almighty.
No law at all,

gold you could scoop from the streams
with your bare hands,

and I gotta go
and fuck myself up

by supposedly stealing
Byron Samson's horse.

It's poor damn timing
at the least.

Thank you very much.

You're welcome.

I'm sorry as hell
about your shoulder.

Flesh wound. Don't look like
it wants to infect.

Well, never mind
flesh wounds, sir,

when you are goin'
to meet your maker,

you don't feature telling him that
you shot a marshal in the shoulder

for only doing
his legally ordained job.

He may have heard worse stories.

God? Well, if He ain't,
I'll tell Him six or seven

just on people of my own
personal acquaintance.

I'd like to suggest
an idea to you, sir,

that I pray as a Christian man

you will entertain
on its own fuckin' merits.

Does it involve letting you go?

I know two scores, Mr. Bullock,

that we could make in transit

without moving
20 feet off our path.

People with cash on hand,

and if once we hit Deadwood

and you didn't want to have
anything to do with me,

we'd never speak again.

We would meet as strangers
the rest of our fuckin' lives.

Now...

you tell me what
you think of that, sir.

-[FOOTSTEPS APPROACH]
-[DOOR OPENS]

It don't appeal to me.

Get the fuck out of here
for a moment, would you, sir?

-Byron Samson's comin' for him.
-Sir, would you please get the fuck out

till we have finished
our previous conversation?

-How many backing his play?
-A dozen, shit-faced.

Samson caved in Tommy Raymond's
head at the No-name Frog.

-He went against it.
-What are you conversing at?

[GUNSHOT]

Jesus Christ!

Samson:
Come out and talk to us, Bullock!

PRISONER: Now who is that?
That sounds like Byron Samson.

-Yeah.
-What would he want?

Now tell me what kind
of fuckin' luck I got.

All you're doing stalling,
Bullock, is pissin' me off!

'Cause I guarantee you ain't making it
through in there till sun-up!

So why don't you climb out
from behind your badge,

and your big brick building,

and you bring Clell Watson out here

so we can give him
what he fuckin' deserves!

What have we got here?

MAN: Whoa!

Samson:
It's a Jew on a wagon!

Yeah, right out here in the alley!

I'm executing sentence now
and he's hangin' under color of law.

You and your partner plan on
making Deadwood, Marshal,

do not try for this scaffold.

That's a deal,
you loud-mouthed cocksucker!

WATSON: Hey, listen.
Oh! Wait, this ain't right.

My sister was comin' in the morning.

-What would you have her told?
-That's not enough of a drop.

-I'll strangle for 20 minutes.
-I'll help you with the drop.

Get up and say what you'd
have your sister told.

Do not tether that rope
off of that porch!

[GUNSHOT]

Any more gunplay gets answered.

You called the law in, Samson.
You don't get

to call it off just 'cause you're
liquored up and popular on payday.

You don't tell us what to do
and what not to do,

'cause you're leaving
Montana anyways!

Now do not jump off
of that stool, you cocksucker!

Or what? You'll kill me?

You tell my sister

if my boy turns up, raise him good.

What else?

Tell her give him my boots.

What else?

Tell him his...

daddy loved him.

Tell him...

he has God's forgiveness.

Anything else?

You help me with my fuckin' fall!

Come ahead.

Fuck you!

[CHOKING]

Stay back!

[GUNSHOT]

Move the fuck back,
while my partner...

While my partner's taking
his sweet-ass time

writing whatever the fuck
he's writing over there!

Who'll give his last words
to the sister?

None of you better fucking move!

Shit! I'll do it.

Thank you.

-Let's go.
-Hee.

[COW LOWS]

MAN: Move ahead!
Move out of the way!

-MAN 2: Move!
-Jesus Christ, come on!

-What's going on!
-Move it up there!

Same damn wagon that
broke down yesterday, Bill!

That's the hold-up, huh?

Same wagon and no damn room
to maneuver.

Sounds like it's tighter out there

-than a bull's ass in fly season.
-[CHUCKLES]

-How's your headache?
-Not bad.

You want me
to canvass for whiskey?

That's all right, Jane.

Believe me, we're stuck here
a fucking while.

I know your
canvassing techniques.

I don't want any casualties
on my conscience.

It's only Wild Bill Hickok

you got stalled here in the muck!

You ignorant fucking cunts!

[MEN GRUNTING]

MAN: We're out here
the whole goddamn day?

What a goddamn circus!

Shit.

-MAN 1: We've got no water!
-MAN 2: All right, friend.

Let's go!

Come on, now,
come on, now, come on.

Chickens for sale!
$3.00 a pair.

Get your chickens here.

PARTNER: Seth!

Seth, hey, Seth.

This lot rents at 20 a day, Seth.

-$20 a day.
-Tent only, no construction.

Corner location.

In advance, every morning
to Mr. Swearengen at The Gem.

-Where's The Gem?
-You'll find it.

Everybody does.

Eight ounces of gold
at $20 an ounce is 160

plus $10 for a half-ounce
makes 170 total.

Inform your dealers
and whores of my credit,

and pour me a goddamn drink!

Honor and a pleasure,
my good man.

170 credit, Dan, for Ellsworth.

Yes, sir, 170 for Ellsworth.

I'll let everybody know.

Lot four, some hardware guys.

First one today with this hand.

And pour me another,
my good man.

Here comes another.

-Lot four a stayer?
-Wagon loaded with goods.

Now with that limey
damn accent of yours,

are these rumors true that you're
descended from the British nobility?

I'm descended from
all of them cocksuckers.

Well, here's to you, Your Majesty.

I'll tell you what,

I may have fucked my life up
flatter than hammered shit,

but I stand here before you today

beholden to no human cocksucker,

and working a paying
fucking gold claim.

And not the US Government
saying I'm trespassing,

or the savage fucking
red man himself,

or any of these
limber-dick cocksuckers

passing themselves off as prospectors
had better try and stop me.

They'd better not try it in here.

God damn it, Swearengen, I don't
trust you as far as I can throw you,

but I enjoy the way you lie.

-Thank you, my good man.
-You're welcome,

you conniving,
heavy-thumbed motherfucker!

-[GUNSHOT]
-Watch out!

That's her derringer.

I warned you about that loopy cunt!

Keep your own tally!

Oh, have no fear on that score.

I said not to beat on me!
I told him!

[PANTING] Ticonderoga, New York,
Barnett Robinson...

-You got any other guns?
-No, I don't got any more.

Ticonderoga, New York,
Barnett Robinson...

Ticonderoga, New York...
Did you find it?

Barnett Robinson.

That's who to notify
if this thing goes wrong.

Yeah, I've got it right here.

-How you doing, Trixie?
-I told him, don't beat on me, Doc!

-No one asked for your version!
-Said I robbed him

and he started beating on me.
And I didn't rob you!

-I don't remember.
-I didn't, God damn it!

Aw, she shot me right in the head.

D-don't put your fingers in it.

Oh yeah, is it bad, Doc?

Shh shh shh.

Get the Chinaman!

Sure would like to know
how he lasted for 20 minutes...

shot straight to the brain.

So prospect in him
till Dan brings the Chinaman.

Do you mind if I take him
to my place?

Sure. Help the doc with this guy,
bring the Chinaman to the doc's.

I'll bring that sled right in, Doc.

Doc, you drink free today

and I hope any word of this

would keep the gun out
of the whore's hand.

-That wouldn't come from me.
-Bastard did himself in.

-Come here.
-I said to stop.

Tell me in my office.

Get the gimp
to clean this place up.

Ugh, Doc!

You know there's something

peculiar about this man's
cerebral setup

or they can just
write off the forebrain

as being the center
of thought and speech.

Let's just get him on the sled.

Of course it...

won't matter to Mr. Wu's pigs.

Whiskey.

I've got an urge to see
that camp, Charlie.

-All right...
-[WHIP CRACKS]

-Can we leave you with the stock, Jane?
-Yeah.

Bill and me are gonna
ride ahead into camp.

I expect I'll be there before sundown.

Well, we'll know where to find you.

What in the hell
do you mean by that?

That I enjoy a fucking drink?

I wasn't aware that's outlawed.

Thanks for looking
to the stock, Jane.

Excuse my ill humor.

Certain people wear
on my fucking nerves.

She likes me better
than she likes you.

I wish to hell I knew
what I ever did

to get on that woman's
wrong side.

-You know a back way into the camp?
-Whoa.

[SPEAKING NORWEGIAN]

We don't go to the camp.

We go home... back to Minnesota.

You probably got the right idea.
[CLICKS TONGUE]

Jesus Christ Almighty, move it!

I can't get to my spot until you finish!

You got me circling my wagon
like a fly around shit.

We're pretty near done.
We got a long wait, same as you.

This the first wagon
you ever fucking unloaded?!

Hold on to my horse,
I'll show you how to do it!

We know what we're doing. Put your hat
back on and stick with your wagon.

-And what if I don't?
-Mouth off and you'll find out.

Sir...

I have a commode
for your inconvenience.

-You think I'm gonna pay for that?
-No, that's free

from Star & Bullock Hardware,
open in Deadwood soon as we locate.

Hurry up and get finished!

My father's last words
there in Vienna,

before he passed away,

was "Sol, lose a can
to buy the goddamned fool.

You could slow it down
and sell 'em at retail."

I gotta put a book together
of your old man's deathbed sayings.

That was Wild Bill Hickok riding past
us, Seth. I seen him in photographs.

Trixie:
He lost his stake gambling.

He told me before he passed out.

He said he lost his stake
and he hadn't found no gold

and he was going back East
after one last piece of pussy.

None of that's anything to me.

He wakes back up,
starts in beating on me...

Where's his stake,
where's all his money?

You call Danny, you call Johnny.

Must've been me
who took it from him.

You don't shoot nobody
'cause that's bad for my business

and it's bad for
the camp's reputation.

He beat the living shit
out of you, didn't he?

Do what you gotta do to me.

Don't tell me what to do.

Either way this comes out,
we'll only have to do it once.

-[CHOKING]
-What's it to be, Trixie?

I'll be good.

All right now.

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING]

We heard rumors
you might be coming,

but you can't believe every rumor.

-Heard you were coming from Cheyenne.
-Here I am.

If every rumor was true

we'd all have been
scalped now by the Sioux,

or the government would've
tossed us out as treaty violators.

-EB Farnum. How do you do?
-Charlie Utter.

You got some mighty
clammy hands there, partner.

Damp palms run in my family.

Here to prospect, Mr. Hickok,
or on other business?

I'm here to get a room.

Could we get two? We're worn out
looking at each other.

Separate rooms.

I'll arrange that by tomorrow,
but today I can't fix it.

Unless you kill a guest.

[CHUCKLES]

Wild Bill Hickok.

Nothing can ever be simple.

He didn't speak of having
lawman ambitions, Al.

Starting with Custer
getting himself massacred,

it's been one thing after another.

Leaves the godless savage
cocksucker Sioux on the warpath.

If that long-haired loudmouth
had held his end up,

we could be operating here in peace.

The New York dude's downstairs, Al.

-Did he order whiskey?
-Yeah.

Did he down it or is he sipping at it?

He's sipping.

-Why'd I even ask, huh?
-[LAUGHS]

Go get Tim Driscoll.

Make sure the dude sees you leave.

-What should I tell Tim?
-Tell him to get over here.

Tell him he's drunk, sorry for himself,
give me five minutes,

-then you come back, do your part.
-All right, Al.

As far as Hickok, Al,

if I'd have pushed him
any harder on his plans,

I was afraid he'd shoot me.

-Go get Driscoll.
-Yes, sir.

Handmade!

It's all handmade, guaranteed.

SOL: It ain't like something's
being foisted on 'em

they'll be sorry
they bought come sun-up.

-I know that.
-These are quality items.

They meet these folk's needs...

Offered at fair markup, and we're
announcing their availability.

Brought through Indian country
figures into the markup.

By us, at personal peril.

-Let's go.
-Coming out

with your fly down
might strike the wrong note.

[LOUD CHATTER]

[SCREAMS]

Come have a look, boys.

Star & Bullock
Hardware and Mercantile

just opened for business.

We got boots to sell you.

Knee-boots, $10!
Hip-boots, 15!

SETH: We got picks,
pans and shovels.

Picks at $12, shovels at 10
and pans at 8!

We got plaster cradles,
prospector's best friend.

-SOL: Perfected at the Montana strikes!
-We got chamber-pots to sell you.

If you don't know
what one of those is,

the man living next to you
will appreciate your finding out.

I'll look at your
biggest size hip-boot.

-Got 'em right here.
-We stand by our stock.

Any item that don't do
what it's supposed to

will be exchanged for one that does.

And we'll be here for you to find us.

Son of a bitch!

The man said I might get a prize.

I paid 50¢ for this bar of soap,

there's a $5 prize in the wrapper.
[LAUGHING]

-Where'd you buy that soap at?
-Man standing right over there.

Front your game
away from our tent.

Cash prizes,
every night's case of soap.

Man:
Hey, storekeep!

Hold me some of those large
hip-boots till I get over there

-and I'll pay you $2 extra.
-Set prices, boys,

and first come, first to be served.

We'll get you squared away.

[SALOON PIANO PLAYING]

No free feels in this house.

Brom Garret of Manhattan,

scourge of the Deadwood
faro tables.

Don't think I confuse two nights
holding good cards

-with being a faro sharp.
-Two here, Dan.

You... you see a finish to that?

Did you hear Bill Hickok's in town?

Oh yes, I did. Does that
give you the vapors?

Are you mad about something, Al?

I'm not mad about nothing.

All's I can tell you,
things sort out fast in Deadwood.

I vouched for you with Tim Driscoll
two hours in here last night

when I gather you must have
been home in bed, sleeping.

End result, Tim's just about got
his claim sold to EB Farnum.

What?
Where's Driscoll now?

He ain't here
so I'd assume at his hotel.

-You told me he's here by 6:00.
-He ain't yet.

Al, EB Farnum just saw me here
and headed for the door.

I wouldn't know
how to interpret that.

I was doing the legwork, Al.

I was doing the due diligence.

You tell me Driscoll's
got money troubles

and he's a motivated seller,
fair enough.

But how did I know his claim's
not played out?

-I had to do the legwork.
-I see, fair enough.

-Oh, that's what I had to ascertain.
-Did you do the legwork?

Al.

For God's sake, close your fist.

Cleaned up during the night
with five more just like it

from Claim No. 9 above Discovery,

panned at the Driscoll claim.

All I can say, Brom, while you
were out winning the battle

I hope you didn't lose
the fucking war.

Al.

Who is that?

Tim Driscoll...

shit-faced.

Let me handle the play.

Oh my God, he is shit-faced.

[SHOUTING]

-Boys?
-Whiskeys.

Two whiskeys.

I'm... I'm respecting your privacy

not saying your name,
but I certainly recognize you

and I'd like to buy the round.

-Charlie Utter.
-Tom Nuttall, Charlie.

Tom.

It's Bill Hickok. I seen him
kill Phil Coe in Abilene.

Ahem, AW Merrick, Mr. Hickok,

of the "Deadwood Pioneer."

-We're drinking whiskey.
-Certainly.

Certainly. Whiskeys here,
Mr. Nuttall.

I'm gonna say one thing
before anybody opens their mouth,

and I won't say no more on the subject

and I'll be through
for the fucking evening...

I'm not impressed.

So what brings you
to our camp, Mr. Hickok?

May I tell my readers?

Warrant out on me in Cheyenne.

Aw, get off of that now, Bill.

Well, I suppose for a man like you,

warrants are a vocational hazard.

Calling me a professional vagrant.

-The warrant was for vagrancy?
-He's kidding!

[LAUGHING]

Anyway, in this camp,
warrants don't count.

I'm telling you he's
not impressed, all right?

Now you may apply that to whoever
you feel may be my reference.

And I intend to gut that son of a bitch
at poker whenever I get the chance.

You run that game?
Can I buy 50 in chips?

I do and you can.

Just settle up after you see
how your luck runs.

Feel like playing now, Bill, or you
wanna take in the rest of the camp?

I feel like playing now.

Tom:
Draw and five stud.

Dealer calls the game.

Sounds fair.
See you later, Charlie.

All right, Bill.

-You boys mind if I sit in?
-Not at all, have a seat.

What a grand surprise.

I never thought he'd live
long enough for me to meet him.

I need another gun.

What, in case they beat on you?

Never mind what for, just take this
and get me another gun.

WOMAN: Go on, you can touch
my nipples if you want to.

[IRISH ACCENT] Now, Mabel!
Get your ass across that table!

This dollar is not for drink.

-My name's Caroline.
-Well, you'll always be Mabel to me.

Claim 9 above Discovery,
$14,000, yes or no?

$14,000, yes or no?

All right, we'll make it 14,000.

Spit in your hand.

Spit in your hand.

-What's his fucking problem?
-Aw, nothing.

Done, witnessed.

-Am I too late?
-Mm.

No no no, but you're too late, Farnum.

I just sold to this goose-looking
fella for 14,000.

-Will you take 16?
-No, thank you, but no.

What a fucking
lying cunt you are.

"12 and a half thousand..."

That's every cent I can
get hold of, Mr. Driscoll.

"And more than
the claim is worth," you said.

16,000, that's 2,000 profit
standing over a drink.

I believe events will prove
that Claim 9 above Discovery

was worth far more
than 16,000, Mr. Farnum.

Unhand me, Al.

Though, you know, of course,
I haven't actually seen

-his fucking money yet.
-I'm discounting his banknote. Dan.

There's $10,000. I'll weigh four
out of the other sack right now.

Al's holding a full faith
letter of credit

for $20,000 from
the Bank of New York.

Full faith is one thing,
but until the money

has actually passed hands between us,
the deal isn't done.

-The deal is done.
-The deal isn't done.

-The deal is done.
-We spat in our hands.

What the fuck would you know?!

I'll knock you into
the middle of next week.

-Now, would you offer me the 16,000?
-I suppose,

-if you're open to further offers.
-16,500.

-What the fuck did you just do?
-Will you close at 16.5?

-You just reopened the fucking bidding.
-17,000.

17,500, I'll go no farther.

-18!
-19!

19,800 and that's every cent
I can put together.

20,000.

Damn it! Damn it!

20 once.

-20 twice.
-I can't.

It's over, he's through.

-Is it over?
-All right.

20,000 sold to the goose-looking man
in the shiny suit.

-I got it, Al.
-Yes, you did.

Comes to look for
a business opportunity,

and sits there losing at poker.

Is he having a bad run?
I can't see that far.

You'd have to see
back to Cheyenne.

He lost his patience,

stays in hands whether
he's holding cards or not.

How's your crowd in here
tonight, anyway?

Oh, it's all right.

It's better than all right,
you could see that much.

Bill Hickok's an asset to any saloon,
any joint he frequents.

-You agree with me on that or not?
-You got a say in that?

-As far as where he drinks and gambles?
-Suppose I did?

50 a night if he'll
frequent here exclusive.

50?

What a sport
you turned out to be.

-You quote a figure.
-Let's come to one understanding.

Any figure I would've come up with,
part of that you give to him

to gamble or piss away
however else he's gonna do it.

That'd be the only part
he'd know about.

I'd work with you.

The rest you'd give to me
to hold in trust for his future.

-Now that'd be your affair.
-Listen to me,

that man's recently married.

He needs to put a stake together.

That's all I'd be in this for.

I'd work with you.

Banish all headaches.

Spit in your hand, Alma!

-What?
-Spit.

I'm gonna show you something.

Promise you'll tell
my mother about this.

I bought it.

We own a gold claim.
This is how we sealed the deal.

And then did everyone
dry their hands?

Do you know who
I was bidding against?

Farnum, who owns this hotel.

Oh, and where was
your secret agent?

Dan Dority?
He was tending bar.

No one realized how Dan had
helped me reconnoiter the claim.

Now Swearengen...
Runs the saloon...

He was intermediary,
he brokered the deal.

Driscoll, the seller,
legless with liquor.

You will have a vivid entry
for an article

when I've told you all the details.

Yes, I've already
begun to imagine it.

It was a near thing till the end.

I had to go all our 20,000
to turn Farnum away.

Oh well.

I'll have to write the bank
to renew my credit.

Of course they'll contact Father.

Well...

I expect that's inevitable.

Wild Bill Hickok is here.

I'm sure he's going
to prospect too.

[GRUNTING]

-How much do you want?
-TIM: Well, we agreed on 30%.

-30% of 20 would be six.
-Mm-hmm.

-So I want the 6,000.
-What's 30% of 14,000?

-What the fuck, Al?
-Who told you to take him to 20?

Well, I could feel
that he had more in him.

It was just a spontaneous
fucking feeling

and I knew that
there was more to get.

And you thought six more would be
the jackpot, take him from 14 to 20.

Oh, Jesus Christ, you know,
if you had further plans,

I wish you'd have just
said something to me.

Should I tell you when I plan
to take a shit tomorrow

or would that be none
of your fucking business?

So... 14,000.

30% of that's what...
What is that now... 4200.

What the fuck arrangement
do you suggest now?

-What do you suggest?
-Oh, Jesus Christ Almighty!

You get in a mood like this and I
just as soon as not even discuss it.

Look, let me just
have 500, you know,

and we'll discuss the rest of it
some other fucking time.

Cash or credit at the tables?

Fucking time of trial, the fucking
English in you comes out. Fine.

I'll have the 500 at the fucking
tables then. Jesus Christ Almighty!

-Are we holding markers?
-You're holding markers, all right.

You've been holding markers against
my kind for the past several centuries,

across both sides of the fucking water!
How the fuck do I know?!

Ask Dority,
he'll know better than me.

Credit it against
the fucking markers,

but just let me hold 20,
in fucking cash.

-Tell Dan to give you 20.
-And a piece of fucking pussy.

Tell Dan, then tell him
to come see me.

And thanks for stepping in on the side
of right and fucking justice,

you deaf dumb bastard!

I tell you, Al, you could have
knocked me over with a feather

when he took him to 20.

Did you see me struggling
to stay on the path?

My wife and children
are in Louisville, Kentucky.

I'm saving to bring them out.

Days I dig on the Foster's water ditch

and nights I watch folk's goods
like I'm going to do for yours.

Schedule like that seems like
you'll have 'em here in no time.

Then Sabbaths I preach Christ
crucified and raised from the dead.

I'm from Etobicoke, Ontario.

-So you were born in Canada?
-I come to Montana when I was 17.

-That's when I met up with Mr. Star.
-Is that so?

I was born in Austria.

Austria? Wonderful where
people come from.

I was born in Austria and then
I grew up in Chillicothe, Ohio.

And then you partnered
with Mr. Bullock in Montana?

That's where we partnered up.

The Lord is our final comfort,

but it's a solace having friends.

I know that from past experience.

You sure sold up a storm
here tonight, didn't you?

-We did all right.
-We'll be a few hours, Mr. Smith.

We want to look around the camp.

I will watch your goods
as if they were my own.

-Thank you, Mr. Smith.
-Thank you.

Whoa.

I seen a terrible thing tonight.

What'd you see?

I seen white people dead
and scalped and...

men, women, children
with their arms and legs hacked off.

Where? How many dead?

Well, it was a whole family
on the road to Spearfish.

Oh my God, it's them
heathen bloodthirsty savages!

-How many was it died?
-It was the whole family, they was...

hacked and mutilated.

The parents, two children.

The Metz family
took the Spearfish Road

going home to Minnesota.

Then that was probably them then.

They had three children.
Were there three?

There could've
been three 'cause...

They was all hacked
and spread around.

Rest their souls.

-Rest their souls.
-Yeah.

You probably need a drink.

You called my bluff, Hickok.

I was trying to run one. Whoa!

Wait on Mary.
I got a third eight under there.

Three eights wins, your pot.

-Oh I absolutely did not realize that.
-Your chips.

Here I am thinking I'm fucking
bluffing the third eight,

and I mistakenly outdraw
the greatest gunfighter in the world.

Meaning the third eight.

-What?
-Saying you outdrew me.

You meant the third eight.

Well, what else
would I have meant?

Say it,

then we'll play cards.

Third eight's what I meant.

-Deal.
-Ante's up, same again.

Jesus Christ, can we
shake hands or something?

Relieve the atmosphere?

I mean, how stupid
do you think I am?

I don't know.
I just met you.

AW: The paradox is
the massacre at Little Bighorn

signaled the Indians'
death throes, Mr. Utter.

History has overtaken the treaty
which gave them this land.

Well, the gold we found
has overtaken it.

I believe within a year

Congress will rescind
the Fort Laramie Treaty,

Deadwood and these hills
will be annexed

to the Dakota territory, and we
who have pursued our destiny

outside law or statute

will be restored
to the bosom of the nation.

And... that's what I believe.

-Does bosom mean tit?
-Same thing.

Ain't nothing against y'all fellas,

but I'd as soon do my drinking
getting a piece of ass.

First you want people
to know about that family.

Yeah, well, what harm is it
in me meeting my needs

before I circulate the news?

What if the third child is alive?

You listen, mister,
it was a massacre.

I'm the one who saw it.
And there ain't no one was alive.

Did you see the massacre or not?

I told you I got there afterwards.

So by then the child could've got away
from where you saw those other bodies?

Or the child
could've been hiding

and so afraid of who
you might be, it didn't call out.

You listen to me, I ain't going
back out there again tonight,

so you mind your own
goddamn business!

[LOUDLY] You're saying a family
is massacred by Indians

on the road to Spearfish
and one child may still be alive

-and it's no one's concern...
-What's this about a massacre?

Oh, for Christ's sake!
God damn it!

I ain't going out there again tonight

after I just made camp with my scalp
by sheer dumb fucking luck!

Ride out and show us the place.

I'll guarantee your scalp.

-You riding?
-Yeah.

-We'll ride.
-May I ride?

I'd be honored to ride,
infirmities permitting.

Here we go.

[CHATTERING]

Wild Bill fucking Hickok.

You were a marshal in Kansas?

Yeah.

-And you?
-Montana.

-Come to your senses now?
-Yes, sir.

The fella's story on this
don't hold water.

No, it don't.

-What'd you give Driscoll?
-20 bucks.

Free poke with Wanda.

-Half-smart mick that he is.
-Yeah.

Tim really fucked up
with the dude, huh?

I guess the dude's case money.
Dude only out here three days.

How's the dude ask
his people back home for more?

-They're liable to send the Pinkertons.
-So shut the dude down?

You being his secret best friend,

he'll want you out prospecting
in the morning beside him.

That claim needs to pinch out.

Oughtn't take but a couple days,
he ain't got much sand.

Tim Driscoll needs to be seen to.

-No kidding now?
-No kidding.

Well, not that anybody asked,

but I'd look to Trixie for danger
before I'd look to Tim.

-No kidding!
-[KNOCK ON DOOR]

Jimmy says the Sioux massacred
a family on the Spearfish Road.

A hand come into Nuttall's No. 10

-telling the story, Mr. Swearengen.
-Who was he?

I never seen him before.

Can you get him over here?
Is he still at Nuttall's?

They're riding back out
to where it happened.

Hickok and some others
were riding with him.

Did the hand look happy
to be riding back out with Hickok?

He didn't look too happy.

How many people downstairs
did you tell about this?

-A few.
-A few?

You let him tell a few people downstairs
before you bring this to me?

Al, I brought him
as soon as I heard!

How many people do you think the people
he talked to have talked to by now?

I guarantee at this minute my entire
fucking action downstairs is fucked up!

Nobody's drinking, nobody's gambling,
nobody's chasing tail.

I have to deal with that!

You want $10
or a bottle of dope?

Bottle of dope, please,
Mr. Swearengen.

-Give him a bottle of dope.
-Come on, I'll take care of you.

He's got a lot
on his mind, Johnny.

-[CHATTERING]
-[PIANO PLAYING]

[GUNSHOT]

Quiet! Al's got words!

I guess when it starts
pissing rain in here,

-you know who to blame, huh?
-[CROWD CHUCKLES]

I know word's circulating,

Indians killed a family
on the Spearfish Road.

Now it's not for me to tell
anyone in this camp what to do,

much as I don't want more people
getting their throats cut,

their scalps lifted,
or any other godless thing

that these godless
bloodthirsty heathens do...

Or even if someone wants
to ride out in darkest night,

but I will tell you this:

I'd use tonight
to get myself organized,

ride out in the morning,
clear-headed.

And starting tomorrow morning,

I will offer a personal $50 bounty

for every decapitated head

of as many of these
godless heathen cocksuckers

as anyone can bring in,
tomorrow, with no upper limit!

That's all I say on that subject

except next round's on the house.

-[CROWD CHEERS]
-And God rest the souls of that family.

ALL: Amen.

-Pussy's half-price next 15 minutes.
-[CHEERING]

[PIANO PLAYING]

[GLASS SHATTERS]

Okay, ladies, let's go.

She must have done some fancy fucking
to keep Al from killing her.

Where's Bill Hickok?

Where's Charlie Utter?

Give me a drink!

It's all right, Al, I know you got
a lot on your mind.

That was one hell
of a good talk.

Look, you got everybody
back at the tables,

-doing what they do.
-Tell you the truth,

for murdering people
on the road to Spearfish

my money'd be on Persimmon Phil.

Make it look like Indians.

That is his specialty.

Is it true?

Indians killing white people?

That's the sewer mouth
that follows Hickok around.

Why are we standing here?

Man:
Riding out tomorrow, daybreak.

Oh, really?

Tomorrow?

What's your fucking rush?!

I'm going now.

Even without Bill.

Even without Charlie.

I know the road to Spearfish.

And I don't drink where I'm
the only fucking one with balls!

[ALL LAUGHING]

[CHEERING]

Let her go.

She ain't taking
any business with her.

And don't forget to kill Tim.

[GROWLS]

[WHIMPERS]

Wah! Yah!

[WHIMPERS]

[CLICKS TONGUE]

[CLEARS THROAT]

[CLEARS THROAT]

[OPENS, CLOSES DOOR]

Get to your room.

You should be sleeping
on a goddamn pew.

You in love?

Man:
Wake up, friend. Come on now.

You know I don't intrude
on the affairs of others.

Problem enough keeping
my own life straight.

When something's not my affair,
I don't pretend it is.

Contrariwise,

if you feel like talking
about that headlight...

I'll pay a dollar
a minute to hear you.

Get anything off
your chest you feel like.

What I got on my chest

don't concern you, Ellsworth.

And fuck us all anyway for
the limber-dick cocksuckers we are.

-[GROANS] What is it?
-Just hush, Tim.

[MUFFLED SCREAMS]

Doc! Get up!

Doc!

Doc!

Doc! Wake up!

Doc!

Oh God...

Wait for me, God damn it!

Just hold on till I'm with you.

She don't mean nothing, Doc.
She's just excitable.

What kinda hand is
your friend with a gun?

I don't feel qualified to say.

I guess I done my duty

and I was glad enough to help.

Stick around, see if she lives.

Nah, I was...

glad enough to have done
my duty and that little one

will be in my prayers.

-Get down off your horse.
-Listen to me.

I'm an innocent man. It...

It was them Indians,
God damn it!

Too much ransacking,
and too many goods left behind.

Someone was after money.

God damn it, if I had something
to do with what happened,

why'd I come to this camp, huh?

Maybe when it got
thick out there you ran.

Maybe the others
was going to ground,

but you had to have pussy

and get to a faro layout.

I felt that way
sometimes after a kill.

Seth:
Get down off your horse,

or face the consequences.

Was that you or me, Montana?

My money'd be on you.

[KNOCK ON DOOR]

Yeah?

[COUNTRY MUSIC PLAYING]