All language subtitles for Deadwood.S3E06.720p.BluRay.E264-SiNNERS_ReEnc480p

Fuckin' postal contract.

Got to bring these
in first thing.

I'll be right with you.

Is he only a goddamn fool

or so stupid he thinks
he's accomplished something?

- Who?
- You know goddamn well who I mean.

- Who are you?
- You goddamn well know that too.

I know from the sheriff
locking you up

between sundown when I left
and my coming back now,

you must have fucked up
at the interval.

- Were you drunk?
- You and I have met.

- At the hotel buffet.
- Yes.

But we wasn't introduced.

I'm George Hearst.

Were you drunk,
George Hearst?

This fellow didn't
keep you up here, did he?

He didn't like fart or snore too much
for you, did he, Mr. Hearst?

I mean, he imbi...

Holy shit!

Jesus!
The cocksucker's dead, George!

Look, he's got a fuckin'
knife in his chest.

That ain't your fuckin' knife,
is it, George Hearst?

Goddamn fool.

Won't be the first
the worms work on.

I guess he deserves more
than a dirt burying by some stranger,

even for only how big

a fuckin' nigger he was.

Don't know
if using this trough

was that big
a fuckin' time saver.

I'll see to the burying
with you.

I owe a visit
up there anyways.

That ain't gonna raise your popularity
with your fellow white people.

Question I wake to in the morning
and pass out with at night:

"What's my popularity
with my fellow white people?"

Suppose we ought
to go get him.

He ain't fuckin' pretty
to look at.

Neither are you,
fuckin' Nigger General.

After that
I arrested Hearst.

Took him by the ear and led him
to jail, where he remains.

Hearst had no particular
connection to Mr. Hostetler?

Both their names
begin with "H."

It's gonna get
bad here, Martha.

It's Albert Swearengen,
regrettin' the early hour and...

that I call
without notice...

Good morning.
Come in.

...knowing I intrude.

- Mrs. Bullock.
- Good morning, Mr. Swearengen.

Will you have
meat and eggs?

- I'd be grateful for coffee.
- Please sit down.

Swell, stem to stern...

the place.

If you will not eat,
will you excuse me?

- Teaches the camp's children.
- Excellent.

- I'll walk you when you're ready.
- There's no burning rush.

I'm sure the talk Mr. Swearengen
would have with you must be important.

Last night
from my balcony vantage,

I watched you drag
Hearst by the ear

to Utter's freight office.

I was awaitin' you comin' out
of Utter's, thinking that you might

make a call on me, tell me what the fuck
was going forward,

but you did not appear.

I finally asked myself,

"Could our sheriff

have took another route home,

maybe through Chinaman's Alley?

And what would that bespeak
of his frame of mind?"

It bespoke I didn't
fuckin' feel like talking to you.

"Al, busy night,
short on joy."

Could have told me that.
"Let's talk another time."

I too, Bullock, when suspecting
I've fucked the dog,

keenly seek
some solitude.

Our hour is wrong.

Having lost his man Turner,
being embarrassed by you,

Hearst will be on the muscle,
and we who will be

his wrath's object ought to stay close
and confide.

Our alternative
is flight.

- Does that appeal?
- No.

We ain't that sort,

which is maybe
more the pity.

Will you walk me to school now,
Mr. Bullock?

Yes.

- Thank you for the coffee.
- You're very welcome, Mr. Swearengen.

- Owie.
- Well, Sofia...

- we're almost through.
- It's cold.

The fire's gone out.

Mr. Ellsworth left for the diggings
early this morning.

He didn't come
to kiss me good night.

You must not
have wakened.

I always waken
from his beard.

Well, last night
you must not have.

There. You look more
than presentable.

Excuse me just a moment,
and then I'll take you to school.

Mornin', Dan.

Jewel, you got you
another customer.

Just brought me mine.

How do you...
how do you feel?

You go ahead and drink that.
That's at least my third damn cup.

I'm jangle-nerved already.

Let me go on
and get shaky-handed,

pop my foot on the floor
like I'm a-listenin' to banjo music!

Shit.

- Al's out.
- Out where?

Well, I don't know.

But I bet you a nickel
it has somethin' to do with Bullock

takin' Hearst by the ear
from Tolliver's to Utter's depot.

What the fuck are
you talkin' about?

Anyways, here's Jewel.

We had been at odds
but settled,

Hostetler and me.

He'd sold me his livery,

and fixing to move to Oregon,

pickin' up his fuckin' shotgun,
the Negro stumbled and...

blew his black head off!

God damn it, Harry.

And I fear no retribution,
not by my own God...

or any other...

evil emissary's dispatch

from the bowels
of the earth

by whatever
bundle of bloody

fuckin' feathers
and housecat teeth

the nigger race
bows down to.

My hands are
fuckin' clean,

and my heart is quiet.

Oh, Christ.

Harry?

Hurry up, Richardson.

Thwart that Abyssinian.

I don't know what you mean.

Any thought he has
of registerin'.

Bad enough we have
one in help.

- Hello.
- Hello.

- We can't take you.
- My baby!

Ooh!

- Ooh!
- Your baby's growed, Mama.

Oh, come on, come on.

Come around back.
We'll get you into my room.

You're so beautiful!
Oh!

Did you hear,
Richardson?

- "Beautiful."
- Yes.

You make clear to Tolliver
you will not confide entirety

and that he oughtn't to expect
you ever fuckin' will

is the basic
foundation attitude.

- Am I fuckin' boring you?!
- No.

Hmm? Sure you don't want
to tell me a joke or the like,

- or dance a quick fuckin' jig?
- I tell Tolliver I'm still your man

and I'll never show him
your fuckin' hole card.

Guy like Tolliver always believes he can
see what you want not to show him.

I'm tryin' not
to show your hole card.

- That's your fuckin' act.
- So what do I say about Bullock?

What you say to Tolliver:
"I know why Bullock acted,

but I'm not prepared to say.
That's confidential and privileged

between me and Mr. Swearengen,
who explained to me exactly."

What'll Tolliver
think off that?

"This kid don't know
what the fuck Bullock's doin',

and Swearengen don't either.

But I, Cy Tolliver,
wormed that the fuck out of him,

even though he tried
not to let me.

I can handle
this fuckin' piss pot."

Fold your thumb, go over
and fuckin' talk to him.

When you're done woolgathering,
I'd like this sent.

How are you today?

Well enough,
Mr. Hearst.

And you?

Well enough.

What do say of me
in your paper?

I have nothing
to report, sir.

- Have you anything to give me?
- I have not.

$1.25, please.

25¢ increase
to our rate.

Damn pleased we got
to speak, Adams.

Al chose well making you
his fuckin' ambassador.

Far as him grabbin' Hearst by the ear,

how that affects - yours and Mr.
Swearengen's arrangements with Hearst...

Fuckin' Bullock.

- AI's got specific ideas on that.
As soon as he's sure

he wouldn't be unintentionally
misleadin' you,

he'll want me
to confide 'em in detail.

Why don't you cap your visit with some
complimentary higher-end pussy?

- Thanks anyway.
- You know Leon here.

Why don't you teach him
somethin' about craps.

Soon as I finish showin'
water how to run downhill.

He'd have me a cur

to paw through the scraps
his fuckin' flunky tosses.

That Swearengen.

When here, Leon,

telling me about the hobby
you and Mrs. Ellsworth share,

you walk me in Mr. Hearst's
front door

and sit me the fuck down
across from him at his fuckin' table.

- God bless you, boy.
- Thanks, Mr. Tolliver.

I'm going to the hardware store,
Charlie.

I hope so.

A little early
to start drinkin'.

Thought I'd
stick around with you.

- Morning, Charlie.
- Mornin'.

Busy night
last night, I hear.

I recall my instructions
to you as bein'

that anytime you and I meet,
Swearengen's to be represented.

Heard and understood,
Mr. Hearst.

And I hope correctly honored in
the breach in this one single instance.

Make your case.

Not to read your mind,

but it seemed your idea
for Swearengen and me

had to do with this newer phase
we're movin' into...

camp's official
business and the like,

Swearengen and me
unofficially

seein' to your interests.

Because the small-mindedness
and self-interested behavior

that's so pervasive in this shithole
makes impossible

my efficient attention
to the requirements of my operation.

Well, I can only imagine
what that's like, sir.

Man who's accomplished
what you have, havin' to move

among the low-rent cocksuckers
and short-haulers...

Make your fuckin' case
why you've gone against my instructions.

I come into a certain
piece of knowledge, sir,

that could make this
more a less a fuckin' company town.

And my thinking was

if communicatin' this privately
to Mr. Hearst

risks putting me and Al Swearengen
the fuck out of action as middlemen,

so the fuck be it.

Suppose I could put
the Ellsworth claim

into play for you,
Mr. Hearst?

- How?
- The lady's reinvolved herself

with a habit turns a person's life
upside down.

One of my own fuckin'
employees supplies her,

God help me,
and that's a habit, sir,

makes a person subject to accident
and mischance of every fuckin' sort,

having to do especially
with the ups and downs

of the fucking quality of the fucking
shit she's being given.

I wish I'd heard this
yesterday.

I'll confide
that wantin'

to honor your instructions
to the letter

cost me 24 hours
before approaching you.

If I had, my instructions
would have had to do

with bringing
the inevitable about.

In the interval, I have suffered
certain losses.

Oh, rest fucking
Captain Turner's soul.

I'd be quiet now,
Mr. Tolliver, if I were you.

Losses
and indignities which,

despite the strong impulse
of my nature towards simplicity,

prompt me
to a different approach.

- Do you enjoy that, sir?
- No, I don't.

- You don't enjoy that?
- I don't, no.

And I wish you'd
cut it the fuck out.

I not only spent
last night incarcerated,

I was taken
to jail by the ear.

That fuckin'
maniac sheriff.

By our maniac sheriff,
that's correct.

And had as a cellmate...

or to be fair in describing
my situation,

cohabitated with

in the adjacent cell
a rotting corpse,

whom it was the deputy's
pleasure this morning

to accuse me
of having murdered.

I'm therefore
distressed and angry

and I seem, for the moment,
to be taking this out on your ear!

But in the longer term
my intentions are other,

and more complicated.

Can we pretend the longer term's
arrived, sir?

I'd have you release me,
for a fucking fact.

Sorry. Temper got
the best of me.

Don't give it
another thought, sir.

Don't kill her yet.

I took that as your meaning.

Oh, you think you can
shine on me like the sun?

"Oh, Leon,
you're a good guy.

You put me
next to the bank lady.

You got a great
fucking future at my side."

Oh, fuck you. Fuck you!

Don't you think I know
the outcome of that?

Once the bank lady dies
from the overdose,

if you've had a good fucking day,
I get a quick one in the ear.

And of course
if the day went bad,

first you carve on me
for a fucking while.

Oh!
Fuck you, rube!

You clean up?
Your 83¢?

Or whatever you froze your balls
for all day in the fucking stream!

Yeah, I'll get off
right here if I want to.

Don't confuse me, Mr. T,

with having no cards
up my sleeve.

This scholar didn't raise
no stupid sons.

Or that don't know...
how to...

navigate a tight...

Morning, Mrs. Ellsworth.

- Morning.
- Out for a smoke.

Fine, Trixie.

My Celestial
ain't in position.

I ain't sure
when he will be.

Maybe you need to make
a different arrangement.

I wonder, Leon,
if we don't now approach

a turn
in our conversation...

having to do
with increasing your fee.

If I was you, lady,
instead of cracking fucking wise

I might be thinking of different ways
of spending my idle time.

I can't help but noticing, your
Celestial's not being in a position

isn't reflected
in your condition.

Yeah? I'm high and planning
to stay that way...

not to fucking mention
alive.

That's the last
you see of me.

Get the fuck
out of here!

Leave her
the fuck alone!

If you would take that out of my ear,
I would be happy to know what you mean.

I mean, if you keep selling her dope,
I will fucking kill you.

Fine, I agree.
You have shown me the light.

I don't want
to see her high again.

Only promise me this,
you meddling cunt,

if you do, before you
head out to kill me,

you'll ask her where she got her stuff.
I am no longer the lady's supplier.

May I go?

I know.

- Do you?
- Yes, your ladyship, I do.

And just heard from that shitbag Leon,
you've got a new supplier.

You are quite
mistaken, Trixie,

and however well intended,
beyond your proper province.

Fuck you, Mrs. Ellsworth.

I am in the process

of making adjustments
to the...

complications
of my situation.

- Bullshit.
- Do not...

take over-many
liberties.

You've fallen back with a fucking child
in your home.

I will no longer be
requiring your services.

Alack for me.

How I'd hoped I could
work here forever.

I give up music
with my fucking.

I don't need any more
friends than what I got.

And I give up

clocking that
cocksucker upstairs.

An inscrutable figure...
Mr. Hearst.

Now what I want you to know:

His first activities impinging on me
I don't hear about beforehand from you,

- I'm gonna cut your fucking throat.
- Goodness.

You see that 200
I've give you?

I do, yes,
at the margin of vision.

That argues
there's a better way.

Take the desk.

Liberia.

He mind me here
'fore his say-so?

How is he gonna mind
you come see your mother?

Here in your room.

He give me this room.
"You stay here, Aunt Lou.

Who says what,
no goddamn never mind to me."

That's good then.

Well well well.

You've company
in your room, Aunt Lou.

My boy, Mr. Hearst,

- my boy Odell.
- Your boy?

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

Where have you been,
Mr. Hearst?

Let me fix you up
some breakfast.

You made yourself
at home, Odell,

here in the room
I set aside for your mother.

I asked him in, yes, sir.

Yes, sir, that was me
asked him in.

Well, now that your mama
has invited you in,

I suppose we might say
on the spur of the moment,

I hope that you'll accept
my invitation as well

as the hotel's owner

and your mother's employer.

Please, Odell,
won't you stay?

I will, sir. Thank you.
Thank you for your kindness.

Not hungry just now,
Aunt Lou.

Here, Al, is your answer.

Nor would 10 times the sum
have tempted me.

- Should have known.
- You confirm my judgment then...

- you were the money's source.
- As it happens, E.B., I was not.

I see.

In that case

you may view my behavior

as a random display
of loyalty.

Explaining yourself offers
a better chance of getting it back.

That money, Al,
came from Tolliver,

seeking knowledge,
as he claimed,

of such of Hearst's
activities as I,

operating the man's hotel,
might come into.

How could I
not believe it was you

orchestrating the approach
as some form of test?

The alternative
would have Tolliver,

knowing my history with you,
believing nonetheless

that he could approach me,

swaying my loyalty as if I had no morals
more than a street whore.

Ain't to Tolliver's standard,
the baldness of it.

My thinking exactly.

The lack of prelude
or prologue.

It's Hearst...

Hearst, is he Caesar,

to have fights to the death
for diversion?

Murder his workers
at whim?

Smash passages
in the fucking wall?

A man of less wealth
would be in fucking restraints.

We're in the presence
of the new.

Fuck the fucking new!

Jesus Christ, Al.

- Is it over for us here?
- Go back to the hotel, E.B.

Save us.
Think of something.

Have I ever not?

We'll discuss that money
another time.

- There's leaving the camp.
- No.

No, l...

no.

One thing...
if he knew it was coming,

Bill was not shy
of drawing first.

Seth locked up Hearst
instead of that.

Oh, I get it.

Wh-what does that mean?

It means, Mr. Star,

after leading him by the ear
through camp for all to fucking see,

Seth installs
Hearst in a cell

adjoining a man
he's had killed,

that the knife still
protrudes out of his chest.

And much as me
and Hearst conversed,

I made him address my ass.

So do let's don't pretend

Hearst will feel he was treated
legal or-or civilized,

or that his business
with us is finished.

Hearst is fucking coming.

Bringing us back to Bill

and doing unto others first.

Which ought maybe include

a visit to Hearst's
fucking diggings.

And his muscle you fail
to murder before they arouse?

You bring to chase
you to camp...

Judas goat the cocksuckers...

for Swearengen's men and Tolliver's
to mow down from fucking ambush

while we're up
seeing to Hearst.

There'll be nothing
left of the camp.

How much you
figure will stand

once Hearst had
his fucking say?

Truth is if I
on Tolliver's instructions

provide an overdose
Mrs. Ellsworth dies from,

for being able
to say he told me to,

who does he fucking
croak next?

You are lethally
fucking middled.

So she says,
"No no, I want five oxen

and one chicken."

- Rube fucking humor.
- Mr. Tolliver.

Come with me, Leon.

Let Con calm down.

Hold off.

- Hold off?
- Hold the fuck off.

Don't fucking
step up the purity.

Just keep selling her
what you've been fucking selling.

It's a wise man that knows his own
limits. Now go ahead out there, son,

and continue doing wrong.

Yes, sir, Mr. Tolliver.

Cocksucker.

- Everything all right?
- Leave me alone!

Ooh.

I wouldn't mind
turning a fucking trick.

Get the fuck

out of here!

We ain't hiring.

Fuck you anyways, Al,
for not recognizing a figure of speech.

It ain't one you ought to employ,
you stupid bitch.

I made a casual remark,
an off-handed comment.

I wouldn't mind turning
a fucking trick.

Operate out of the back
of his store,

that you're so set
on lifting your skirts.

Let some fuck
filthy from the mines,

breath rotten
from his broken teeth,

piss-reeking, shit-stinking
fuck every hole in your body.

What's the matter
with you?

I lose patience with cunts
too ignorant to know

when their lot's improved.

- She's using again.
- Who do we speak of now?

The fucking Mrs. Ellsworth.
And I told her I knew

and that she'd ruin her child
and that I quit her stupid job.

If that don't straighten her out,
I don't know fucking what.

What was I
supposed to do then?

Look after your fucking self,
you loopy cunt.

Now get the fuck
out of here!

Hello.

Hello.

I thought you'd be
at the bank.

I came away
without something.

You might hurry
not to make Sofia tardy.

- Where did you stay?
- At the diggings.

Was Sofia upset?

As you may imagine.

May I appeal to you
to reconsider?

I needn't be your husband

to be what father
to Sofia I can.

I care for you
a great deal.

An arrangement
like ours

wouldn't get anymore
tolerable to you.

And I couldn't
bear it,

seeing what you'd
do to yourself.

You'll straighten
around if I go.

I can't help noticing in you
just now Mr. Blazanov, uh...

- I'm sad.
- I see.

I imagine

my murdered parents.

They were killed
on their farm

while I was a student
in Petersburg.

I imagine their bodies

like the man
we found on our walking.

We are swept up,

are we not,
by the large events

and forces of our times?

How much they saved...

to send me for study.

I'm gonna go ahead
and try this cobbler.

Don't think I didn't notice
you hadn't tried it yet.

Oh, that's delicious!

And praise God, how fast
the mails must be getting to be.

'Cause it ain't a month
since I wrote.

27 days.

I keep track
when I send you my letters

so I know when
to hope for one back.

And him sending
for me to come here,

it's 27 days since I wrote
to tell you that.

And I just can't feature

Odell all that way
in Liberia,

you could have
gotten my letter

that took the time
it took to get to you

and then you take passage
to come back here to America,

and got from New York City
to hell and gone out here

all in 27 days.

I can't feature
it's possible.

Whoo, praise God,
praise God!

Well, Mama,

maybe I set out
without having the letter.

But then you couldn't
have known I was here.

Couldn't have knowed it
proved, you mean.

Would've had
to took it on faith,

reading in the newspaper

that he was here
in this place,

you would be too.

Decided it was time.

There you are.

- Here we are.
- Odell.

I had thought
to find you inside.

I hope you don't take me
for ungrateful.

I have an inkling
you're wise, Odell.

I've gotten used
to being outdoors,

all that time
at the site of the find.

What find do you
refer to, son?

Liberia, sir.
The gold.

Invite you now
to sit down with him to eat...

"Sit across from me
and have dinner, Odell."

That before
you said gold,

fire's in his eyes you was anyplace
indoors at all.

Gold seemed
to change his mind.

Don't you want to say
"Yes, ma'am" or "Yes, Mama,"

before that
or after, Odell,

so my heart feels
how sweet you are?

No, ma'am.

Make me know you sweet,

God-fearing and truthful
like I wanted my boy to be.

Back from where
you send him,

raising up to a man,

safe amongst his own.

Liberia... free.

Free? Shit.

Don't you speak
to me thatta way!

- What way, Mama?
- Use language like that to me!

No kinda truth?
Yes, ma'am.

Liberia free.

Praise Jesus.

Here come
the Spirit over me.

Don't you take Him in vain.
Don't you dare to do it!

All right, Mama,

all right.

What was
the truth of it then?

Liberia?

No field work...
African niggers for that.

Now they lazy
and stupid, Mama.

American niggers
steal off the African,

till the English
cheat us out of it.

Hot till you can't breathe.

Nothing ever be dry.
Hate the air.

Hate the breathing
in and out.

Liberia.

Is there gold, Odell?

A rich find, Mama.
Rich.

Praise God.

He give His son
for our sins

and Mr. Hearst
to help us.

Where are
you going, boy?

Find a place where
a nigger can have a drink,

before he sits down
with Mr. Hearst.

Putting that dead one's
kidneys up his nose,

however the fuck else
they summon up their demons.

Beat thigh bones
on tin pans.

Shake and rattle
and hop the fuck around.

Another?

Am I swine, Harry,

that in an otherwise
empty joint

the owner must make
a show of relocating

further away from me?

Maybe it's you being present
keeps away the broader clientele.

And maybe, Tom,

it's the chill in here
is what does it,

when every
edifice else in camp's

been swanked up
and seen to.

Look inward,
why don't you?

Instead of always
blaming the other.

Welcome to the No. 10.
My name is Tom.

Harry'll take
your order.

His name is Steve.

Whiskey.

Afternoon.

Where is
my dinner companion?

I don't know where
that boy's got to, sir.

I guess we all have
different ideas, Aunt Lou,

of what constitutes
punctuality.

Guess everybody do
about everything, sir.

Look like more and more
that's true.

- Why don't I go find him?
- You don't believe he's forgotten?

I don't know no more, sir.
Let me just get past you.

What if he returns and you're
still gone? Who'll serve dinner?

I'm getting past you
Mr. Hearst, please do excuse.

Where is
the livery at?

I'm not assuming you know
left from right,

or I'd have spoken.

I've never done that
sober in my life.

Pissed yourself?

And if account of the mishap circulates,
I will know the fucking source.

Who could I tell?

I'd have never
known it had happened

if you hadn't started
screaming about it.

Pissing yourself at the grave
of your best friend

and most admired person
you've ever known,

that ain't cause
for fucking dismay?

Bible instructs us

when two of different races
return from a graveyard together,

the event should be
marked with liquor.

Praise God!
Thank you, Jesus.

I come looking for you,

that cooked for you and your friend
as was strangers to me.

- What's your trouble?
- Save my boy, sir,

that's past
his mother's lap.

Yeah.

- How are your spirits, chief?
- All right.

Do not bullshit me, Dan!
The task I'd assign you is pivotal.

- I'm all right.
- And leave the matter at that?

What the fuck else would
you want me to say?

Nothing. You gave me
the basis to decide.

I'm not fucking
sending you anywhere.

Well, fuck where
you were gonna send me!

And fuck the task you
were gonna assign me to do!

And that confirms my opinion,
that indifferent rejoinder.

I'm on the verge of striking you
a fucking blow.

Oh, which I would be
inclined to absorb

as proof you'd passed the killing
of that giant.

Which I have been
waiting to hear you volunteer.

Then why didn't you just
ask me to volunteer it?

Because opinion solicited
does not equal one freely voiced.

This is what I predicted to Johnny,
virtually word for word.

- About what?
- How you'd react to that killing.

"Dan, Johnny, does not like
killing to end a fair fight."

"Oh, why, Al?" asked Johnny. "Because..."
and I fucking have to explain to him,

"...it's more like a contest,
Johnny, or the like, a bout."

Seeing a light
go out of their eyes.

In the one you had left
in its socket.

Better in his one
than the both of yours, hmm?

I'd have you go to Cheyenne

to see to the hiring of guns.

All right.

Wishing an alternative
would come to me.

Want me to go to Bismarck?

An alternative
to the hiring of guns, Dan.

Yeah, Hearst's pockets
are bigger than ours.

Being neighbor to his prick,
which Bullock may as well have belittled

when grabbing him
by his fucking ear.

Do you feature the Nigger General
getting my boy to take that money?

No man better
for the task.

That little Nigger General
has a gift.

Gets you to an attitude
he'd have you

and goes about
his business.

Leaves you to stand
in wonderment.

"What happened
to change my mood?"

Or change my opinion
or decision,

take money maybe
I never featured I would,

come fire
or flood or the like.

That's the little
Nigger General all over.

I pray Jesus
you're right.

Oh, having no pull
in that quarter,

I'm tolerable
confident, I am.

Could I have a swig?

Now that is the first
giant step

towards long-term
understanding and friendship.

Do not employ a mug

lest next we'd be
donning white gloves.

All right then.

Yes yes yes.

Yeah, there's a new house policy
now at the No. 10 Saloon:

Anyone at all can drink
or move in and take up residence,

for all the fuck
the policy cares.

Ain't meaning to be here long.
Ain't looking to drink.

All's I'm here for, Steve,

is to talk
to this here gentleman.

Go ahead and do somersaults

or peel bananas with each other
for all I give a fuck.

The whole place
has gone to shit anyhow.

- What could we have to talk about?
- Your mama did me a kindness

and she asked me
to talk to you.

I guess I also got to tell you
she give me $742

to give to you if you just
get the hell out of camp.

- What's your name?
- Nigger General Samuel Fields.

Now my plan... I got 1200
left to me by a tall nigger

who after he sold
his fucking livery to Steve there

blew
his fucking head off...

past that $742 in my pocket
that I'm trying to give you,

my plan is get
to San Francisco,

buy enough white pussy
to stretch from the harbor

to the closest rooming house
that'll have me

and then fuck my way
to the Pacific Ocean.

She said that
she sent you away.

Mmm, not far.

- Fucking Africa.
- Damn.

- What'd you say made her mad?
- Called her Mama.

So now you want to run
a little something on her boss,

which would be a waste
of that high yellow skin, Odell.

We done talking, Samuel.

All yours.

The nigger I appointed to dine with
does not appear.

As well,

since his mother's
not here to serve us.

What do you know
of last night?

My stomach hurt.

I was discomfited
otherwise.

Stupid, aren't you?

Yes, sir.

Better than what
some of these others are.

This place displeases me.

I'm taking measures
to bring it down.

All right.

Does he speak
of the hotel?

Or even more?

That they're armed
and awake

don't have to mean
they're fucking hired.

Yeah, and when I feel a shit coming on
I'll remember to drop my pants.

The obvious
merits utterance.

Character is
fucking pertinent.

If I'm to go, I'd as soon get
started before the darkness.

Going means
the darkness is upon us.

Bullock.

Could him and me talk?

Sure. Converse
amongst yourselves.

Charlie Utter thinks it has
to come to blood.

Charlie Utter's
likely right.

And if it has to, that we should
strike first.

Believe me, even now

in the forest, the blade would be
between my teeth,

me and you making our way
stealthily forward.

And as to us and him,

if blood's what it finally comes to,
100 years from now

the forest is what
they'll find here.

Dewy morning's lost
its appeal for me.

I prefer to wake

indoors. Dan!

You don't travel tonight.

Come. Need of canned
peaches, Johnny.

Let's collect
the camp elders.

Be baffled
among friends, huh?

I tried, Miss Lady.

No.

No, no.

Gentlemen.

Mr. Hearst.

Odell!

Odell!

Hello, Mr. Hearst.

Who's the new
nigger?

Fucking late, son.

Oh, sorry, sir.

- Your mama's tardy as well.
- Is that so?

That's all right, we'll await
her speaking of gold.

Oh, that'd be
just wonderful, sir.

- How's the finger?
- All right, Mr. Hearst.

How's
the fucking ear?

Good, Bullock, good.

By dissembling our feelings
we keep the strategic edge.

You don't get him.
You don't take him from me.

Oh no. You don't get him.
You don't take him from me.

Not quick, but she does
seem full of purpose.

People are fucking people,

and that is fucked up!

You don't know what
the fuck I'm talking about,

'cause you
don't know people.

I...

I know people

and I know the way
they fucking operate.

Who are you
talking to, Jane?

What business or concern
is that of yours?

I wondered
where you were.

I'd hoped you come stay with me
instead of going back to all this.

Whatever you mean by this,

I have been recently engaged

in complicated
negotiations with niggers...

who equal any other
creature walking upright

being able
to fuck themselves up.

I got myself a room
at Shaunessey's.

The offer
still stands, Jane.

I'd really like it
if you'd come stay with me.

I am a creature
of habit and routine.

And I am a creature
of difficulty falling asleep.

If I don't mind
pissing myself to stay asleep,

I'm not likely
to destroy

a habit of routine sleeping
someplace completely elsewhere.

Come on, Jane,
we're going.

You ain't got
the fucking manpower

- to pull my ass up.
- Come on.

You're putting yourself

very much in danger,
my friend.

Very very very

very very very much
in danger.

That's all right, Jane.

Come on.