All language subtitles for Deadwood.S01E11.720p.BluRay.x264-SiNNERS

A slob mick cop in Chicago

gonna take me off for $35

just because he thinks he can.

'Cause when he comes around
for his free fuckin' meal

and to have his prick sucked
and collect his weekly 20 fuckin' dollars

from the woman that
runs the whorehouse,

I'm there buying girls
to bring out to the camps.

I knifed the tub of guts.

That's what this cunt of a magistrate's
shaking me down over,

having already taken $5,000

to have the warrant lifted.

Can you do business with his bagman?

I'll fuckin' find that out shortly,

or if you're never gonna be able
to fuckin' operate in peace.

What should I know?

Bullock's rode out with that
Hostetler from the livery.

Farnum's slithered
his way across here.

Jewel just left.

Where the fuck is Jewel goin'?

I don't know.

Take half a day off if you feel like,
go see that child.

Venture out.
Sally fuckin' forth, hmm?

- Maybe I will.
- But now come back to bed.

Hey, get out of the way!

Who's sick?

What's he doin' making
you walk to tell me?

I came here on my own, Doc.

I got something I want to show you.
It's a book.

Oh no, I don't read goddamn books
on the Civil War.

- Look!
- I don't need to look.

I was goddamn there.

But it'll help me walk better.

Okay, you're referring
to the brace on his leg.

- Yes.
- Okay.

For your information, Jewel,

that boy in the drawing
was goddamn able-bodied

before he got his leg shot up,

not born with difficulties
and hardships

that got no cure and took from you

the coordination a brace
like that would require.

I was just lookin' at the picture.

And draggin' my leg
really makes Al crazy.

Fuck Al.

Everybody's got limits.

You draggin' your leg is yours.

- I'm sorry.
- What do you apologize for?

Don't... don't apologize to me.

Lemme...

let me hold onto this for a while.

Thank you.

Momentous!

The long-awaited day!

Oh, yes yes yes yes yes!

Oh god, oh god,
oh, yes yes.

Uh, careful careful
careful careful!

Now, sir, we must
confirm the contents

of this precious cargo.

Oh God... philistine.

Ah, Joseph,

what you see here

is an American optical
back-focus single-swing

with a Meyer Gorlitz
Trioplan 210mm lens.

The finest photographic apparatus
manufactured in this country.

What William Henry Fox Talbot
could have achieved

in service of this fine apparatus.

Oh, God! Agh!

Oh, God, yes, careful careful.

- Good day, sir.
- Ow. Damn.

- What's wrong?
- I bit my d...

Oh.
Sorry.

Leaned forward to give
that fella passage

and bit my damn tongue.

Knocked off my chewin' angle.

- Is it bleeding?
- I don't want to look.

Might upset the child.

Anyways, maybe a different
way's opened up, Charlie,

far as me getting
backing for my brothel.

Aha.

I understood the question
was location,

but glad to hear
the backin' problem's solved.

I think, uh, I've been
finicky over the location

'cause I wasn't comfortable
with the backing.

I'll tell you one thing...

I ain't making too many
friends in this camp

in my capacity as Fire Marshal.

We're through the easy picking's
on that outcrop, ma'am.

I'll wade around that creek
as long as you like.

You want to make your claim
show its colors,

you're gonna need
to sink a few shafts.

I'm close to suggesting
that we proceed.

Meaning my use
to you is near a finish.

- No!
- I told you, Mrs. Garret,

such as it is,
my expertise ain't underground.

I want you still to supervise.

I trust you, Ellsworth,
as an honorable man.

I take great pleasure
in your company.

I feel the same.

I look forward to our breakfasts.

And I'll just say once,

I know I'm too damn old for ya.

Button!

Oh my goodness.

I can't be...

I take a father's liberty.

Mr. Ellsworth, Mr. Russell.

- How do you do, sir?
- How do you do?

A-and this is Sofia.

- Hello, Sofia.
- Hello.

- Your daughter?
- My ward.

Any rate, pleasure to meet you, sir.

I'm honored to be
in your daughter's employ.

And with your permission, ma'am,
I will take my leave.

Uh, of course.

And my plate...

and my coffee...

...and my hat.

Fine manners.

Reverend Smith.

How are you, sir?

Andy Cramed, Reverend.

Mr. Cramed, you returned
to the setting of your recovery.

Uh-huh.

How have you fared since?

I've been trying out
the other camps.

To what effect?

No good effect, Reverend.

I see.

How are you feeling?

As you see.

The... the tent, as you see,

is in the process
of being dismantled.

Our last tenant took
his leave yesterday.

- Upright?
- He was upright, yes.

His name escapes me.

Dr. Cochran, I believe, uh,

is expected shortly, I believe.

I was asked to...

to see to the packing of...

certain liniments and...

medicines.

Are you not well, Minister?

Sometimes I'm very well indeed.

My energy will return,

or even an excess of energy.

At other times, I'm not well,

or excess of energy.

How are you, Mr. Cramed?

Well, I backslid in the other camps.

At Gayville, I had the best intentions,

- and I wound up at dice.
- Oh, yes.

At Elizabethtown,

I wound up at dice.

Oh, yes.

Thought I'd try to work here
where I'd been good,

but you're putting the tent down.

Ask God's help, Mr. Cramed.

Wherever you find yourself,
he will show you the path.

Could you help me to pray?

Lord,

grant that I may seek
rather to comfort

than to be comforted,

to understand
than to be understood...

to love than to be loved...

and the rest I forget.

"Why don't you get
a haircut, Adams?

Looks like your mama
fucked a monkey."

Just that affectionate?

Yeah, I've never seen Al
warm up to anybody so quick.

Which should persuade you
then of what?

Well, you think it's just tactics?

The magistrate Al counted on

to be his advocate
in Yankton turned Judas.

Adams is the magistrate's bagman.

Al is merely probing
Adams' willingness

to betray the magistrate.

In turn, his warmth is counterfeit.

- Where the fuck were you?
- At the doc.

Fix me a cup of coffee.

Morning.

Shorn and groomed
to a fucking fare-thee-well.

She'd never recognize you... have to smell
you all over to know you was hers.

My monkey mother.

Take a table out of the traffic, huh?

Just that affectionate.

I trust you found your accommodations
satisfactory, Mr. Adams... Silas.

If not, they could
always be changed.

Let me fucking pour.

He's gotta make some
distance before sunset.

What was your purpose at Doc's?

I'm knocked up.

What message should
I take to the magistrate?

No envelopes and to fuck himself.

I'm glad we had occasion last night
to spend some time together,

so when he asks if this
is tactics or true position,

you'll know what to say.

- I'll know.
- You travel safe.

They believe you're
the man to deal with...

Yankton.

- I am.
- It's just the magistrate

looking to earn off that warrant,

and no one else even
knows it's out on you.

Maybe the magistrate needs to die.

Maybe he does.

He won't come back here without a resolution.
He'll know what's waiting for him.

- Maybe he needs to die there.
- Maybe he should.

And the person who did it

would only be at the beginning
of his usefulness to me.

If that person didn't come back
with the warrant on you quashed,

he would be a fool not to think
he'd be the next one killed.

That's why he'd be so useful to me
thinking that far ahead.

Make your offer.

A thousand for the cocksucker
proved dead,

a thousand
for the warrant proved lifted.

A thousand and a thousand.

- Think I am a fucking monkey?
- You thought there would be 20 in it?

Kill Clagett and get you
out from underneath that warrant?

You're fucking right there's 20.

Do it for two.
You've got to believe

the job would open the door
to your future,

and you gotta believe you'd make
your ass hundreds of thousands

back and forth
between here and Yankton.

2,000.

I put him in a room above the privy.

I always thought it was
gonna end like this, button...

a rooming house

in a mining camp on Indian territory,

you caring for
a Norwegian foundling

and operating a bonanza gold claim.

And you, Daddy?

Uh, always a little
sketchy about me.

I hope I'm here to help.

Oh, that would be
my room key. Sofia?

- Room seven.
- Thank you, sir.

- Thank you.
- You're welcome, little one.

Oh my goodness,
what's that behind your ear?

Don't you ever clean
behind your ear?

Mmm.

Does caring for Sofia please you?

More with each day.

And do you have any of the gold?

As it happens...

The well-mannered Mr. Ellsworth
says these abound?

Yes.

There's some talk
that you did Brom in.

From his parents?

They have raised the possibility.

As it happens, I was not
present when Brom fell.

You have to admit,
it's a suspicious sequence...

- The man who was is in camp.
- ...given their view of the marriage.

I doubt he tells the true story
of how Brom died,

but he would verify
that I wasn't there.

I didn't mean to upset you.

It's always about the money, button.

In certain circles.

But not here, hmm?

I suppose here as well.

In certain circles.

Mr. Ellsworth being the exception?

Mr. Ellsworth was engaged
by a Mr. Seth Bullock,

who's been steadfast and kind.

And when did your path
cross Mr. Bullock's?

Before Brom's accident or after?

Mr. Bullock was asked
to look to my interests

by Wild Bill Hickok.

Who, if I recall your reading habits,

has been an acquaintance
of yours since childhood.

I would very much like
to meet this Mr. Bullock...

nearly as much as I'd like to wash.

Daddy.

Ah.

I'm glad to see you.

Stovepipe directly into wood,

no clearance or sheet iron
in-between.

Well, what's the significance?

Joint's like to burn to cinders.

Well, then why ain't it yet?

Dumb luck, Tom,

which you hadn't ought to push.

Camp being situated like it is,

everyone ass to elbow,

a hazard to one is a hazard to all.

Why, ain't you starting to talk like
a goddamn government official?

I'm Charlie Utter

that attended the same
fucking meeting you did.

And being they pinned
Fire Marshal on me,

I ain't seeing the camp
burned to the ground.

So either cure
your stovepipe violation

or prepare to get levied a fine.

Well, I'll lick a bear's ass

before I'd pay a fine to EB Farnum.

Then separate
your goddamn stovepipes

from the goddamn wall!

Well, I'll send one of my boys
over to pick up the iron.

This ain't the goddamn
day of judgment, Tom.

Jesus Christ Almighty!

That's the kind of shit
that ran me out of Wilkes-Barre.

Where are the camp's headed, Tom?

Maybe I'll just fucking move along.

Why is there no sheriff in this camp?

What?

All these official positions,

why is there no sheriff?

Because Al Swearengen
don't want one.

What if a sheriff took office
that Al could trust not to bother him?

And you could lay head to pillow nights
knowing he was your friend.

Type of man who'd go up
to a Fire Marshal, say,

and tell him any so-called
sheet iron violation

that hadn't proven to be
dangerous for, what...

going on two months now...
should be waived;

and whose ear'd be first to the ground

when any violence created
maybe business opportunities;

and who'd remember
who got him situated.

I never thought of you
as the type to be sheriff.

Nah, I'd be out of the mold,

but fit for the camp.

My problem, Tom, is, uh...

whereas he has a soft spot for you

as a fellow pioneer,

Swearengen hates my fucking guts.

So knowing how grateful
I'd be and alls I'd...

show it to you,
wonder if you'd put in a word?

Yeah?

Mr. Tolliver?

Leon.

Come on in.

Your habit get the best
of you awhile, son?

It got the fucking upper hand.

How's your sight, Leon?

Oh, the left eye's perfect.
The right's coming back.

- Have I still got a job, sir?
- I'd need to hear more from you,

what you been up to,
who the fuck with, that kind of thing.

Aw, you probably know everything
about everything already.

Be that as it may...

Ahem, well...

me and Jimmy Irons,
we stole the Chinaman's dope.

Chinaman's courier, he lost his life.

We slammed dope for a series of days,

and Al Swearengen's
tough captured us.

And in the bathhouse,
we drew straws and...

Jimmy Irons drowned.

Does that about cover it?

If you ask me specifics,

I may be able to come up
with some more details.

- Was Al Swearengen holding the straws?
- Yes, sir.

He said to tell you what I seen.

And now is he holding
the strings on you?

- Sir?
- Are you here on his instruction?

I'm telling you what I seen
because you asked me to.

What'd they do with Jimmy Irons?

They give him to the Chinaman?

I guess they did.
They wrapped him up and took him out.

Swearengen turned me loose,

but he'd just give me this, so I stayed
in the tub until I got my bearings.

That's a hell of a way
to treat a white man, ain't it, Leon?

Being fair, I'd have to say,

I gave Mr. Swearengen provocation.

He traffics in dope, so I...

I guess you could say that I'd stole
his property and fucked his action up.

I'm talking about Jimmy Irons in connection
with getting delivered to a Chink,

- regardless of his transgression.
- Oh, I see.

And in that connection, I'm saying
it's a hell of a way to treat a white man.

I see.

- Do you agree with me?
- Yes.

- So it's your own opinion too?
- Yes, sir.

Well, that's your new fucking job,

expressing your own fucking opinion.

I can do that.

With conviction, Leon.

Your job is to voice your opinion
with some "oomph"

and some character behind it...

or you'll wish you'd have
got drowned in that bathhouse.

All right.

Welcome back, son.

Oh... no thanks, Al.

I... or, well... yes, I will.

What's going on, Tom?

I-I... I thought you could
make Con Stapleton...

sheriff,

being it's inevitable anyway.

How the fuck did that
get to be inevitable?

I wouldn't appoint that cocksucker
to empty my spittoons.

What I'm saying is
somebody's gotta be sheriff, Al.

Stapleton's got points in his favor.

I hope one's not getting
to recover the bribe he paid you

when I don't give him the fucking job.

- Who's your candidate, Al?
- Nobody.

Well, that's just postponing the inevitable.

Tom, nothing Stapleton's got on you

can't be solved by Dan Dority.

Well... fill me up.

Jesus Christ.

The... the truth is I-I feel like the...

the camp's getting away from me, Al.

I got a Fire Commissioner

who's about to condemn my building,
and we're still on Indian land.

How does Stapleton becoming sheriff

keep the camp
from getting away from you?

Well, I know him.
Uh, he'd know I put in a word with you.

What the fuck good is that to you, Tom,
when that cocksucker can be bought

for two pieces of day-old bread?

Well, that's right.

That... that all makes sense.

It, uh...

well, when you first come to this camp

and hung your sign up
for nickel booze and 50¢ pussy...

Them was get-acquainted prices.

But the point is
I seen your fucking tent.

I walked over and I... I said "Hello!"

I didn't tell you gotta sheet iron
your fucking stovepipe.

I didn't have a stovepipe,
and you had your knife at the ready

- if I didn't make a good impression.
- That's true enough, but you didn't.

And Dority made
a hell of a one on you.

That too is... is true enough.

Now I just, uh...

I feel like I know the guy, Al.

Stapleton.

Well... I don't feel

like I know anybody no more.

He can be sheriff for all I care.

Thank you, Al.

Don't count on him to be loyal, Tom.

No no... just...

a familiar face.

And no fucking paperwork.

Well, I don't even
know if he can write.

- Could he be sworn in here, Al?
- For Christ's sake, Tom!

- He feels you don't like him.
- He's fucking right as rain.

But it'd be a comfort to him, see,

if he was sworn in under your roof.

Let Farnum swear him
the fuck in here then.

But press your luck no further.

Do not expect me to fucking attend.

I'm awful grateful, Al.

- Mr. Star.
- Miss Trixie, pleased to see you.

I threatened to pay a visit.

You spoke of looking out
for some building implements.

I spoke of looking out
for an axe and a saw,

and if I got 'em, they wouldn't be
applied to building nothing.

Anyways...

would you want a free fuck?

- Why would you say that?
- To know the answer.

Why would you say it that way?

For Christ's sakes. Mr. Star,

my cherry is obstructing my work.

Sir...

would you take it from me, free?

Seth, you remember Trixie.

Oh, yes.

Well, I just stopped for a moment.

Oh, yes.

- I'll lock up?
- Oh, yes.

Kiss my neck or tits
if you have to kiss something.

Let me kiss you.

Well, you're a goddamn Jew fool.

Do you swear before this witness

to uphold whatever laws may be
put in force subsequently?

Yeah, if I can, yeah.

- And don't forget who your friends are.
- Always.

Gentlemen, hold still.

Take a breath. Don't move.

One, two, three.

Very good.

Uh, gentlemen, Tom, I...

I wondered if a second one
might be appropriate

without that putrid apron
around your midsection.

No. Let's drink.

Our Health Commissioner.

Whiskey.

You've just missed my swearing in
of the camp's new sheriff.

Con Stapleton, sir.
I'm not sure if we've actually met.

You were at the table
when Hickok was killed.

Indeed, I was.
A horrified bystander.

- We weren't to have a sheriff.
- That's been reconsidered as inevitable.

Had you designs
on the post, Bullock?

- I don't want the post.
- No hard feelings then.

Consider me at your service.

My wife and child are
to join me from Michigan.

- Is Al in his office?
- Seems to be sequestered.

He missed the swearing in too.

He did want us over here though.

Ain't that absolutely correct?

Then why the fuck didn't he come down?

Why didn't he come down?
That's unclear.

To let you know exactly,
I would guess,

at whose mysterious
pleasure you serve.

A candid moment.

Circumcision...

is indeed profiteth
if thou keepest the law,

but if, uh...

if thou art a transgressor of the law,

thy circumcision
becomes uncircumcision.

Therefore, if...

thy... uncircumcision...

keeps the, uh...
the righteousness of the law,

shall not his uncircumcision

be count for circumcision?

Yea, the uncircumcision

that is by nature fulfilling
His law shall judge thee,

who by... by letter and, uh...

circumcision transgresses the law.

- Yeah.
- It's Seth Bullock.

Why'd you let Stapleton
have a badge?

- They sworn the cocksucker in yet?
- Hurry down and toast him.

Maybe Merrick'll put
his camera back up.

No, I prefer to watch
the fucking Reverend Smith

preach to the oxen and horses.

It ain't right for the camp.
My wife and child are coming.

Bullock, it's a ceremonial position
to give comfort

to Tom Nuttall who feels
the camp's leaving him behind.

Putting a badge
on Stapleton makes him feel

- he's got friends in high places.
- That job shouldn't go to a shitheel.

As my feeling would be, it should go
to a shitheel 'cause it's shitheel's work.

- Doesn't have to be.
- No?

Mr. Bullock, would you
sit down a second?

I want to tell you something about
the law. Please please, take a seat.

Separate from all them
bribes we put up,

I paid $5,000 to avoid
being the object

of fireside ditties about a man
that fled a murder warrant

then worked very hard to get
his camp annexed by the Territory,

only to have them serve the warrant of him
and to face the six-foot drop.

Into the cocksucking
magistrate's pocket

the money goes,
after which he sends a message:

the 5,000 will need company
if I'm to be off the hook.

I give you the law.

It doesn't have to be like that.

Now if you were fucking sheriff

and you said, "Do this, do that,"

I'd consider it,
'cause you're not a fucking whore.

I have personal responsibilities.

I'd go downstairs for that swearing in,
and I'd follow your career,

'cause you're one of those pains in
the balls who thinks the law can be honest.

I don't want it.

Hell, I do lots of things
I don't want to do.

You think you're the only one?

You should have been here when
Tom Nuttall was pissing in my ear.

I think you'd be all right as sheriff.

Listen, I'm only talking to you

'cause my partner's fucking that whore.

Anyway.

He's back open.

- How was your talk with Al?
- Congratulations.

Good sportsmanship, Bullock.

Who shall separate us
from the love of Christ?

Shall... shall affliction or distress or...

or persecution or...

or hunger or nakedness?

Or peril or sword?

Yea, in all these things,
we more than conquer

through Him that hath loved us.

I am persuaded that...

that neither life nor death,

nor... nor angels,

nor... nor... nor principalities,

nor powers, nor things present
or things to come,

nor heights, nor depths,

nor any other creature...

from the love of... of God!

And...

and Jesus Christ our Lord.

- Seth.
- Sol.

She wasn't here
in a professional capacity.

We have an agreement
with Swearengen

as to the use we put
this establishment to.

She come looking for goods
and things took a turn.

- That can happen.
- Not twice though, at this location.

Yeah. Maybe I'm not the only one

who should be about looking for a place.

Gonna make an offer on that piece
on the western slope.

Did you have another look?

Go ahead and get to building
if Hostetler takes the offer.

Maybe have a leg up when
Martha and your boy arrive.

- Good afternoon, sir.
- Good afternoon.

I am Otis Russell.
Uh, would you be Mr. Bullock?

- I'm Sol Star.
- Oh, how do you do, Mr. Star?

- Very well.
- I'm Seth Bullock.

Mr. Bullock.

I am Alma Garret's father.

- How do you do, sir?
- How do you do?

I am very grateful for the kindness

that you've shown my daughter.

I wonder if you would
join us for dinner tonight.

- I'd be happy to.
- Oh, Mr. Star, will you join us?

- Thanks, but I can't.
- Regrettable.

Would 6:00 at the hotel be convenient?

My daughter says that
the dinner hour is early.

6:00 is fine.

Just months that this camp
came together, huh?

- Yes, sir.
- Remarkable.

Hi, Doc.

First thing to say,

I regret the tone
I had with you earlier.

Okay.

If we hold with the Greeks
that we're made of humors,

I guess my bile
was in its ascendant.

- Okay.
- Sit down.

Another thing

that the Greeks say...

except that
I learned this in Latin...

is "Primum non nocere."

And that means
"First, do no harm."

And this has been a great concern
to me in your case.

To interfere,

even with the best of intentions,

and have you misjudge
your capacities

'cause you rely on some
mechanical contraption

and wind up hurting yourself

would be a poor use indeed

of my very limited skills.

You can get around now, Jewel.

I can only imagine with what difficulty
and exertion and pain,

but the moving around
you can do is precious to you.

I do not want to fuck you up.

No, we wouldn't want that.

Having said that...

and different from the...

harness-type attachments

in that Civil War book,

I thought we might try
something like this.

Let's.

How was your visit, Trixie?

How was the child?

- Had a good visit.
- Is the child conversant?

Moving along from saying her name?

Anyways, I better take my turn.

No, you look good having gone out.

You're more relieved, more relaxed.

We can't work all the time, can we?

We all need some type of relaxation,

companionship or the like?

- Yes.
- You get away from me now.

Hey, Doc, how long were
you planning on taking

before you told me what the fuck
was wrong with Jewel?

Nothing.
Nothing she wasn't born with.

Mmm, I mean, she told me
she was knocked up,

but I assumed that was
her gimp sense of humor.

She wants me to brace her leg so
her dragging it doesn't drive you crazy.

- So what'd you tell her?
- Not to worry about your moods,

that you generate those yourself and then
you find your excuse for having 'em.

Saucy words, Doc. Good thing
you're handy with the snatch.

I had an idea for a boot,
just now measured her for it.

If you treat her as successfully
as you did the minister,

she'll be kicking up
her heels in no fucking time.

I will leave you now
to pursue another excuse.

Get that Jew over here.

My daughter tells me that before
his murder, Wild Bill Hickok asked you

- to look to her interests.
- Yes, sir.

Had you ridden
with Hickok on the plains?

I met him in the camp.
I only knew him a few days.

And impressed him at once
as being trustworthy.

They rescued a child
in the wilderness

and brought to justice one of the men
who murdered her family.

And, um, how was
justice meted out?

We shot him.

Slab of beef off the chuck,

boiled whole carrots
and little brown potatoes.

Fresh baked bread
and rhubarb pie to come.

- Your repast awaits your mouths.
- Thank you.

Postprandial cigars for the menfolk.

Oh no, we have our own smokes.

I hope you brought
ravenous appetites.

Thank you, Mr. Farnum.

He had something to do with it.

Would you prefer, Mr. Bullock,

that Alma stay in the camp?

In any case, I've decided to stay.

As her advisor, I mean?

It's Mrs. Garret's affair.
If she wanted to go back East,

her interest here could be seen to.

But I don't.

And it would show her in a better light
should title be contested.

The custom is if you give a claim
your efforts and staked it

or bought it fair, someone would
have to go some to take it away.

We've taken steps
to demonstrate her activity.

Of course, if the New York courts
had jurisdiction,

they'd sell the holdings
to the highest bidder.

Not many here would give a damn
what a New York court held or didn't.

- Excuse my language.
- On the contrary, Mr. Bullock,

thank you for acknowledging
my presence.

I thought, button, that you were
our entire preoccupation.

The man's
a charlatan, Richardson.

A cheat, a broad tosser and a clip.

I only wonder...

if the daughter's been in it with him,

or she's his pigeon.

- May I look, Mr. Farnum?
- Yes.

When you've grown
a full head of hair.

Brass, that would be.

To gull your own flesh and blood.

- Mr. Swearengen.
- You owe me $5.

If you ass-fucked her,
you owe me seven.

- No.
- You didn't ass-fuck her?

I'm not paying you.

It wasn't to do with you.
It wasn't business.

Trixie!

Don't think I don't understand.

I mean, what can any one of us

ever really fucking hope for, huh?

Except for a moment
here and there with a person

who doesn't want to rob,
steal or murder us?

At night, or mayhap sun-up

one person against the fucking wall,

the other may hop on the fucking bed,

trusted each other enough
to tell half the fucking truth.

Everybody needs that.

It becomes precious to 'em.

They don't want to see it fucked with.

- I won't pay.
- You pay...

or she pays.

No home visits.
Do your visiting on the premises.

Five.
Seven for an ass-fuck.

You get back to work.

You sleep tonight amongst your own.

Another fucking bottle.

If we'd had a kitchen, Sofia,

after supper we'd have retired to it,

to chores and gossip

on the most minute domestic matters,

while the men walked and smoked

and argued more important matters...

and, incidentally, decided our fates.

Understandable, her late husband
was so taken with my daughter.

I didn't know him very well,

but I certainly recognized
his doting infatuation.

I didn't know him at all.

I'll admit that I had hoped
she might find a man

who would dote on her and more,

perhaps had a surer sense
of what the world was.

And, apparently,

I'm entitled to hope that again.

My wife and son
will be joining me soon.

I'm long past judgment, Mr. Bullock,

and I've learned that
no matter what people say

or how civil they seem,

their passions rule.

I see no reason why
your wife and son's arrival

need alter my hopes
for my daughter's happiness

or security or the security
of her holdings.

I'll say good night, Mr. Russell,
with thanks for dinner.

That will disappoint Alma.

I'm sure she didn't think
she was saying good night

- when we left for our walk.
- She'll be all right.

If I have offended you, I've accomplished
the opposite of my intention,

which would not be
an unprecedented result.

- I just want to say good night.
- Of course.

- Good night, Mr. Bullock.
- Good night then.

Trust me to explain to Alma.

I'm a practiced and inveterate liar.

If we didn't hate them too much
to be curious about the world...

we'd wonder what they'd had to say.

Craps! Loser! Line away.

You better not need
them fingers, hoss,

if you spill that drink
on my goddamn felt too.

Hand that stick to a captain
of the floating table, Cy.

- Eddie Sawyer.
- Back in action if you'll have me.

Well, all right.

You need to take it back
about that boy, Cy,

me being interested that way.

Aw, hell, Eddie, you know me.

I get in a brown study, I say
any goddamn thing comes to mind.

Withdrawn with apologies.

Coming out. New shooter.

Are we that far west that we've
wound up in fucking China?

Where a white man
kowtows to a Celestial

like that arrogant cocksucker Wu!

- Take it easy, Leon.
- It sticks in my craw, Mr. Tolliver.

Do I have my weaknesses?

Yes.

But I will not have a fucking
Chink courier rob me blind

and have my friend Jimmy Irons robbed blind

in the course of feeding off
our fucking weaknesses!

Or have that courier's
fucking Chink boss

issue an order to Al Swearengen,

that's supposed to be so fucking tough,
to turn one of us over!

Swearengen kowtows
and turns one of us over

to be eaten by
the fucking Chinese pigs!

This fucking gets to me.
I can't put it out of my fucking mind!

Leon, Leon, Leon.

Thin it out, Leon.
Prune the patter down, hmm?

For the winner, pay the field.

- Hi, Eddie.
- Hiya, kid.

- You and Cy reconciled?
- Thick as thieves.

And if I weren't as good at what I did,

you'd see I just palmed 80 in chips

for the Joanie Stubbs
construction fund.

- Hi, Cy.
- Hi, Joanie.

What were you doing giving
Joanie the office, Eddie?

Saying "Welcome home."

Are you home, honey?

I gave up waiting for that
search party you didn't send, Cy.

Mind if I show Joanie
my peacock, Eddie?

- Find land for your plot yet?
- I'm still looking.

I see the pest tent's coming down.

Ah, it's too far off
till the camp expands.

You'd want a more central plot,
say fronting Cochran's alley.

Well, those all seem
took by Chinese.

You never know how
that shit's gonna shake out.

Those Chinese cocksuckers!

A new shooter coming out!

That man's not here
to help his daughter.

He's looking to root at her claim.

You went to see that whore again?

I guess she had to account
for her being outside.

Swearengen sent for me
to pay him his fee.

I guess she told him
where she'd been.

It might have been me
he found out from, Sol,

'cause I'm sometimes that stupid.

You think it could have been you?

I'm sure it was,
speaking without thinking,

justifying being in his place.

Being you'd been
ousted from your own.

I was hot seeing that tinhorn Stapleton
getting installed as sheriff

and I used poor fucking judgment.

Sorry Mrs. Garret's pa
turns out a shitheel.

Cold enough world without getting
gone against by your own.

Now, I see what the fuck's
in front of me,

and I don't pretend it's something else.

I was fucking her but now
I'm gonna fuck you,

if you don't piss me off

or open your yap
at the wrong fucking time.

The only time you're
supposed to open your yap

is so I can put
my fucking prick in it.

Otherwise, you shut the fuck up.

Now hold onto that, huh?

The point is,

this minister's gotta fucking die.

I mean, that's the...
that's the fucking point.

He's gonna die sooner or later.

I mean, he's making
a fucking jerk of himself.

And, I mean, well,
why-why go on with that?

Who's-who's gonna
benefit from that, huh?

No, you just gotta kill it
and put an end to it.

You don't linger on about it,

you don't fucking go around
weeping about it,

and you don't, you know,
behave like a kid with sore thumb,

loco sucking it.
Now "Mm, my poor fucking thumb!"

I mean, you gotta behave
like a grown fucking man, huh?

You gotta shut the fuck up,

don't be sorry,
don't look fucking back,

because, believe me,
no one gives a fuck.

- You understand?
- Yeah.

You shut the fuck up, huh?
Gimme that!

Hey, you suck my dick

and shut the fuck up, huh?

Come here. Come on.

Now then, here.

The place where I found you, huh,

is where this warrant's from.

Could you believe that I may have
stuck a knife in someone's guts

12 hours before you got on the wagon
we headed out for fucking Laramie in? No!

Because I don't look fucking backwards.

I do what I have to do and go on.

Whoa whoa whoa... what?

You got a stagecoach
to catch or something, huh?

Slow the fuck up.

Did you know the orphanage
part of the building you lived in,

behind it she ran
a whorehouse, huh?

Oh, so you knew?

So what are you fucking
looking at then, huh?

God.

Now, I'll tell you
something you don't know.

Before she ran a girls' orphanage,

fat Mrs. fucking Anderson

ran the boys' orphanage
on fucking Euclid Avenue,

as I would see her fat ass
waddling out the boys' dormitory

at 5:00 in the fucking morning,

every fucking morning after she blew
her stupid fucking cowbell

and woke us all the fuck up.

And my fucking mother
dropped me the fuck off there

with $7 and 60 some-odd fucking cents

on her way to sucking cock in...
in Georgia.

And I didn't get to count
the fucking cents

before the fucking door opened.
And there,

Mrs. fat-ass fucking Anderson,

who sold you to me.

I had to give her $7
and 60-odd fucking cents

that my mother shoved
in my fucking hand

before she hammered
one, two, three, four times

on the fucking door and scurried off
down fucking Euclid Avenue,

probably 30 fucking years
before you were fucking born.

Then around Cape Horn
and up to San Francisco,

where she probably became mayor

or some other type success story,
unless by some fucking chance

she wound up
as a ditch for fucking come.

Now fucking go faster, hmm?

Okay, go ahead and spit it out.
You don't need to swallow.

Just spit it out.

Anyways.

♪ Snake baked a ho-cake,
and set the frog to watch it ♪

♪ The frog fell a-dozing,
the lizard came and took it ♪

♪ Bring back my ho-cake,
you long-tailed nanny-o ♪

♪ Bring back my ho-cake,
you long-tailed nanny-o ♪

♪ Bring back my ho-cake,
you long-tailed nanny-o. ♪