All language subtitles for Deadwood.S3E09.720p.BluRay.E264-SiNNERS_ReEnc480p

One-third of six is two.

The combination of the safe
in the hardware store,

which you should commit
to memory against eventualities.

As was threatened by the arrival
of those men last night.

Yes. There are deeds,
some 7% bonds,

certificates,
sundry receivables.

One-third of six is two.

One-three-ought-six-two.

Yes.

The children and I are moving
into the new schoolhouse today.

Good.

I'll walk with you.

I wish we'd found
out the last part

for Mrs. Bullock
to tell the children.

We did as best we could.

Does four desks
to a row seem right?

Mm, if not, they ain't nailed
to the floor.

You ain't seen Jane?

The camp is to know
they're here.

The camp is to know
they're my employees.

If this knowledge
came first

from some disruption
of traffic

in the thoroughfare,
I would have no objection.

All right.

And matters might
deteriorate from there.

- Coffee!
- Ready.

Well-positioned, Davey.

Yes, sir, Mr. Swearengen.

Eyeing them idlers
outside Hearst's hotel.

Copperhead
cocksucker Hearst,

bringing in the fucking
Pinkertons.

Not much of a horserace, Dan,
between the appetite for blood

and fidelity
to political conviction.

Fucking Pinkertons!

Do we have alternatives to enlisting
reinforcements in Cheyenne?

I knew I should have stayed
packed from four days ago.

Some bullshit's jumping off
on the thoroughfare, Mr. Swearengen.

Get out of my way.

Move it, old timer.

Get out of the way,
Hop Lee!

Hang on.

Cocksucker!

Move along, Ding-Dong!
Move along!

- Move along!
- Cocksucker!

Move along, Ding-Dong!

Go get fucking Wu.

Question extant being...
till reinforced,

can we learn
the ways of church mice?

Call on Tolliver.

You will not mistake
the newspaperman.

He looks like a...
big turtle.

Published a letter
meant to embarrass me.

That I authored
his discomfiture

should come clear
only as events accumulate.

All right.

The top of my to-do list every morning,
and every day gets away from me.

- Anyways, here you are.
- Here I am,

Al's delegate, as far as him and you
deal with Mr. Hearst.

Will you still
if invited to sit

or will it take me
offering a meal?

I'd sooner not sit, sir,
and already ate.

Only asking, ought I bear
a message to Al?

Nothing comes to mind.

Horsemen come to camp
by torchlight last night.

Tell Al as we didn't
wake to the Apocalypse,

I suppose all we need fear
is their Winchesters.

The pillars of my existence
who should know each other:

Mr. John Langrishe,

my dear Aunt
Lou Marchbanks.

With whose art I am most
appreciatively familiar.

Uh, Mr. Langrishe is now
to my back, Aunt Lou,

what you have long
been to my belly.

And I may say that so long
as the nodals are quiet,

that girth
at the midriff,

preached as sin by so many among
the guardians of sacral well-being,

is absolved
as a danger by me.

I've been heavy
all my life.

Oh, I refer not at all
to you, dear lady.

Salty, juicy ham
this morning.

I must have it.

Usual for me,
Aunt Lou.

Sit sit sit sit.

Must I do so four times?

Ah, my closest confidant
in the camp

is Aunt Lou, and I say
that with every awareness.

Wonderful.

I guess I must have went
invisible overnight.

I saw you, drummer.

And yet you
cut in front of me.

I just know you
wouldn't be eating.

Did I not see the gentlemen
who is still upright

arrive in the camp
last night?

I believe
I may have as well.

I was on the porch
of this structure,

and you with Mr. Swearengen
on his balcony.

I believe he
came in on horseback.

Not as a pedestrian,
ironically,

given his heavy-footed
virtuosity.

What did Mr. Swearengen
make of the coming into camp

of that man
among his friends?

Do allow me, Mr. Hearst,

as your corporal
comfort's advocate,

in this regard
to be neutral.

Let me show in your company
on the subject of Al,

no less rigorous a reticence
than I exhibit with Al

when addressing
the subject of you.

Ah!

My ham.

- Good morning.
- Morning.

Good morning, Louis.

- I hope your night was uneventful.
- Yes, ma'am.

Jim's late, so I'll
watch till he arrives.

Thank you.

How have you been,
Trixie?

No complaints.

As if anybody
would give a shit.

I come to
put in some money.

I'm glad.

Oh shit!
You motherfucker!

Whoa whoa whoa
whoa whoa whoa!

I ain't no goddamn nurse!
I gotta see to my business in this camp.

Tom's rules. You can't
set if you ain't drinking.

He's buying
for them that do.

Yeah, uh, and what
if he messes hisself?

For them that
wipes him off.

I ain't seeing him out.
I ain't gonna fucking do it!

You seem better
of late at a distance

than you appeared
when last seen up close.

- And now that you've seen me up close?
- I get the same impression,

particularly
of a clearness at the eye.

I am better.

Good morning.

Anyways,

there's 12 bucks
I deposit into my account.

If the currency's
counterfeit,

my fucking Jew boss
is the culprit.

Do not, please, madam,
hasten your business

- or abridge it.
- I don't need no receipt.

Trust the lady.

John Langrishe, madam,
of the Langrishe Theater Company.

How do you do,
Mr. Langrishe?

Glad I'm well
to bid you good morning.

I'd undertake
two transactions.

Deposit of $4,000

and the borrowing
of like amount.

Those would seem
at cross-purpose.

Theater types being
perceived as transient,

nomadic...

without stake, so to speak,
in a place's particulars...

my redundant undertakings

would allay mistrust
of my kind

endemic
in such camps as these.

Oh.

No less weighty
than my verbiage.

You have your loan,
Mr. Langrishe.

A pleasure,
Mrs. Ellsworth.

By way of publicity,

this evening we conduct
an amateur night.

I wish to state,
unequivocally

with this imposing
gentleman as witness,

I have no gossamer
filament of doubt

you have skills
to delight and amaze.

They have their
fucking fun with you,

and in the morning,
they treat you like dirt.

And you a fucking virgin...

No, and not
pretending to be.

...to be wounded
by her callous ways.

All I'm saying is
she could have been nicer,

and those steerers
more fucking polite.

- Assholes!
- Hey,

we got a timber lease to work.
Get over there.

Oh, yeah, I'm sure
them scribblin's

as clear as fucking
rainwater to you, Johnny...

he who was stymied by
a couple of fucking X's

and a goddamn straight line.

Winks, grins,
gives Wu the big okay.

Okay.

If I recall the drawing
you're referring to,

I believe the straight line signifying
the bar was first made out by me.

As far as these
pictures here, now I,

not fathoming
the full particulars,

I feel I get
the general drift.

You best trot upstairs
with Johnny, Wu.

Show Al your work
is finished.

But remember, Al, he...

he ain't near as quick as Johnny
or fucking Jewel.

No, Al might be confused and treat you
to a fucking ass-kicking.

Well, what does Tolliver know
of the guns come to camp?

Said he don't
know nothing.

- And you fucking believe him, huh?
- I think, I did.

Felt like he is
outside looking in.

We ought to form
a fucking club.

Fucking Yankton's
rejoined us

for Christ's
fucking sake?

Must have finished
stealing from the Indians.

Wipe your ass, Hiram.

It feels strange at first,

but the shit
protects against blisters.

Ho!

- Will you be here after work?
- If I am, will you suck my prick?

Well, if you ain't, and a fella says
Hiram's trying to find you,

if he don't go on
to call you a cunt,

he's cutting
the message short.

Let's go, Morgan.

What, was it him that got
you hooked on cocksucking?

Get on
the fucking wagon.

I'll be here, Hiram.
Try some shit on them blisters.

Let him fuck your ass.
He may raise your pay a quarter.

You might already
be too loose.

See you this afternoon.

A room, if I may,

unexposed to the gales which must
blow through that hole above us.

Mr. George Hearst, who is
now the hotel's owner,

put the hole
in that wall.

Enhancing not at all for me
the prospect of a room

- in the hole's proximity.
- Could I get a wheelbarrow or the like?

Yes, sir.
Richardson! Wheelbarrow!

Miss Stubbs?

I guess you're near ready
to take the children over.

Or are you ready now?
Do I keep you from it?

Oh, I'm... I'm taking
the children in an hour's time.

Just now you give us happy
respite from our numbers.

Anyways, Mose says the man
was a Norwegger from Wisconsin,

built the building
around the tree

so as to have sap
on hand for syrup,

which must taste like hell
for being burr oak, but...

probably smells nice
in a lamp.

- Does anyone know why he left?
- No luck on that score.

Far as that,
we came up empty.

It's too bad.

It's freer rein for the children's
imaginations.

Fewer facts,
I guess, to trample.

I hope that you'll
walk with us, Miss Stubbs.

Oh...

- Sure.
- Good.

I'll see you in an hour.

I recognize, Mr. Fields,
that in any foreseeable future,

Steve will not resume
operations of the livery

or pay on his note to the bank.
Be assured I am grateful

for the expedient care you have taken
of the livery and its occupants,

having no obligation
in this matter of any kind.

No shadow ought be on
Hostetler's reputation

that sold to Steve
by me now taking leave.

No reasonable person
would cast one.

I guess I can head out then,
knowing the one in a 100

that is, won't sully
Hostetler's name.

I got a life
to live of my own.

As do all here
in the camp.

Sorry to hold you all up.

Jesus Christ, whoever thought I'd come
to write an article?

Have you a notice
you wish circulated, sir?

- What?
- By "article" do you mean

you have some notice
you'd wish published?

By "article"
I mean a fucking article.

What would be
your article's subject?

You're a fat fucking
bastard, ain't ya?

I think we ought best continue
our conversation, sir,

when you're not under
the influence of spirits.

Something stupid
looking about you.

- I must insist you leave.
- Fucking irritating!

How you look makes
me fucking embarrassed!

- Oh dear.
- "Oh dear"?

Oh dear.

You'd better come
help your friend.

Mr. Merrick, I'm sorry!
I'm so sorry!

Swedgin, Hearst,
heng dai?

We're the opposite
of fucking heng dai!

We're bok gwai lo,
the two of us.

- Bok gwai lo?
- Fuck bok gwai lo!

We're not
fucking heng dai!

We're the opposite of fucking heng dai!
Now make your fucking point.

Yah! Swedgin!
Hearst! Eee!

Jesus fucking Christ.

150 Chung Kuo cocksucka.
Custer.

He's dead,
for Christ's sake, Wu!

Hey, how about
the canoe?

Did you know that had been
fucking invented yet, huh?

Custer,
Chung Kuo cocksucka,

150, Custer.

Custer City?

Oh! Custer City!

Wu's holding his men

- outside Custer City.
- Huh.

'Cause you and Hearst
are on the outs.

Clever precautionary
fucking thinking, Wu.

- Miss Stubbs.
- Mr. Utter.

- Mr. Langrishe.
- The blessed Miss Stubbs,

whose bust is
so very prominent

in the mind's
pantheon of the camp.

Some not 50 yards from us

will put these
of mine to shame.

As I've made
to Mr. Utter

a proposal,
the answer to which

he must generate only in privacy
and after meditation,

if you'll excuse,
I'll take my leave.

- Well, I will too.
- No no no, Miss Stubbs.

It is only I from whom
he must be sequestered.

Your counsel
may be invaluable.

If you can cartwheel or puff
your cheeks like a fish...

we have
a festivity tonight.

I'll live in hope
you'll attend.

There is a strange
fucking bird.

Some kind of,
uh, amateur night

he's organizing,
connected with his theater.

Some way
I couldn't fathom.

A prelude,
he called it.

Fucking Jane ought
to break out her bullwhip.

I nearly came to know
for Mrs. Bullock to tell the children

why that schoolhouse has
a tree growing through it.

The new one has
a tree growing through it?

Who the man was,

why he built around the tree
instead of cutting it down.

Mose couldn't find out
where he got to.

Why does she need
to know where the man got to

for Mrs. Bullock to tell
the children about the tree?

To finish the story.

More than where the man
got to once he was through,

I'd think the story
was of the tree

and the schoolhouse
built around it.

I guess
you're right, though.

L... I guess children
are like that,

wanting to know
all the information.

I guess
that's how they are.

You got something
to send, Miss Stubbs?

I was just stopping by
to say good morning.

Friends become adversaries

become now, I hope,
friends again.

Doing any good
for yourself?

Oh, hard of late, Adams,
doing that in Yankton.

That is something
you would be aware.

From what I read
on the crapper.

Washington harasses us
for our difficulties

in distribution
to the Indians,

thereby distracting
the nation at large

from Washington's own fiscal
turpitudes and miasms.

There amongst the turpitudes and miasms,
you got caught stealing the money.

The money was not stolen.

There was an amount
of siphoning off

and certain
irregularities.

Sounds like it was
regular as milking Bessie,

96¢ on the dollar.

Rank exaggeration.

If it was less than 90, you fucked
generations of Indian agents to come.

If saying so
will let us go on, then,

yes, we stayed above 90.

And did you lay
a few cents by?

A few. Never enough.

Your star here
is in ascension?

I've been keeping busy.

Tell me how. Don't delete
a single detail.

That's a pretty taut line,
Mr. Jarry,

not knowing how deep
your hook's set yet.

How deep would
500 set it,

time being
of the fucking essence?

Hard to know
till it's inside my pocket.

I'd rather not
produce it in this place.

Worse gets produced
here pretty regular.

Much has been
answered already.

Little has fucking changed.

Ugh, it was nightmarish.

Whatever cogent purpose
the man may have had,

his drunkenness kept him
from conveying, and yet

I had the eerie sense
he knew what he was doing.

Maybe not so drunk
as he seemed, huh?

Details, sir.

Did the newspaperman
try to defend himself?

Did he beg you to stop?
Did he cry out?

He said, "Oh dear."
Was bleeding and curled up like a baby.

I'm guessing your
bottom rib is cracked,

and this contusion
at your belly

show the colors of the rainbow
before it's through with you.

Apparently, my expiration
is not imminent.

'Course, I'm wrong
as much as I am right.

What purpose might
the man have had,

Al, in feigning drunkenness?

Allow you to penetrate the pretense?
Teach fear while inflicting pain?

You printed any
letters lately, Merrick,

that some miserable cocksucker would
send an underling to punish you for?

Bastard.

Should be ashamed
that I didn't come to help.

I'm so sorry, Mr. Merrick,
my dear friend.

Cut it the fuck out,
the both of you,

unless you want to act
to the cocksucker's purpose.

This came for the cocksucker,
Mr. Swearengen.

Take it to him.

I'd like to punch him.

Give him
the fucking telegram...

and no punching.

Long pulls on the
laudanum as needed.

Check out that sow Tina, Doc,
when opportunity presents.

That ain't the whiff
of roses when she passes.

- Have I bled on your bed linens, Al?
- You wouldn't be the first.

Shit.

Do yourself a favor, Sol.

Stop thinking of that Derringer
as a problem solver.

It solved
several for me.

Free fucking kindling,
if you have need for it.

Our timber lease ain't
nothing but pecker poles.

Let's see them blisters...
Hiram.

Aw! Son of a...

Jesus Christ, Morgan!

Stay inside.
Stay in here.

- Help me.
- I did, you motherless cunt...

to bleed out
in the fucking mud.

Stand away till I find out
what happened here!

- That fight was fair.
- Bullshit!

Corey was under orders
not to draw.

Man's gun's
out of its holster.

Was it you took it out
after he was down?

Do you say I did?

That saw me come from my store as you
came down the boardwalk?

I say someone did.

Corey had orders
not to draw.

- You're fucking under arrest.
- What for?

For interfering with a fucking peace
officer. Come with me for questioning.

- All right.
- All right, Sheriff.

You tell your men
to interfere.

Give me a reason
to do what I want.

Cheyenne and Black Hills

- Telegraph Company, Mr. Hearst.
- Mr. Blazanov.

Telegram
for George Hearst.

I decline
your gratuity, sir.

Change in policy.

So where you gonna
take this, Richardson?

To finish curing
in the smokehouse.

How long you gonna
leave it in there?

Three weeks.

How you remember
three weeks is up?

The notch where I sleep

beside the notches
for my other ham.

You getting the hang
of this, Richardson.

So next time
I ain't gonna asked you.

Only check did you
make your notch.

You'll find it made,
Aunt Lou.

Would you
excuse us, sir?

Yes.

Odell is dead.

Jesus, help me.

The found him near
the road to Rapid City.

How they sure
it's Odell?

The letters I gave him
were still on his person,

and his Bible
bore his name.

Get away
from 'round me, sir!

No, you don't have to feign
strength with me, Aunt Lou.

I ain't pretending shit!
Get the hell away from 'round me, sir!

Oh God! Oh my God!

Get out of my fucking light.

It's me.

Who is me?
The fucking eclipse?

- Mose Manuel.
- Oh, really?

I thought it...
it was Giganto,

the runaway
circus elephant.

Miss Stubbs has
been looking for you.

Those kids need chaperoning
to the new schoolhouse, Jane.

I cannot hear you,

nor can I see you

any longer.

- You fucking drunken slob!
- Oh!

Get up and walk them kids.

Okay, Giganto!

Don't tusk me to death
with your tusks.

How long do I have
to assemble myself?

They'll be ready to go
in a few minutes.

Shut up.

I'm sorry, Mama.

I'm so sorry.

I can't take it.
I can't take it.

Who produced
their weapon first?

Said they come
out the same time.

We drew as one.

- That's a fucking lie.
- Come here a second.

Shut up.

Are you as sure
about your timber lease?

- What do you mean?
- As that this is truthful.

Are you as sure that lease
ain't worth fuck-all?

- Absolutely fucking certain.
- Then nothing holds you here.

And arguing
against you staying

is who this
fuck-head works for,

and the man you shot

in the fair fight.

Best you move on,

- taking your genius brother with you.
- Um...

I ain't showed myself
to advantage here, Sheriff.

I'm fully fucking aware.

Line up right there.

Stop. You're gonna stop right there.
Right there, stop.

Okay, step
this way right here.

Okay, stop.
Stand right here.

Thank you.
You can carry that.

Stay close. I might
need you for support.

I don't want
to hold her hand.

You can lock arms instead.

Hey, okay, go ahead.
Miss Stubbs?

Sheriff?

Tell him I ain't coming
for his lecture.

Tell him I don't need it. Tell him if my
temper was gonna get the best of me,

this cocksucker's brains
would be on the floor.

Tell him I got it.
All right?

Tell him
I'm on top of it.

Sheriff.

They're finished, Charlie.

I got it.

I told Mrs. Bullock
I'd walk with her.

Well, go ahead.
Hello to Miss Stubbs.

Soap!
Soap with a prize inside!

Guaranteed prize
in every case of soap!

Soap! Soap with
a prize inside.

Hello! As we have

in Chicago, Denver

and San Francisco,

the Langrishe Troupe
bids welcome

to the Deadwood camp!

Nights to come will
find us on the stage within.

Our enactments may bring
an odd tear to the eye,

and may be relied upon
to produce guffaws

and howls of laughter.

This evening, however, in memoriam
of a passing colleague

whose jocund spirit

hovers over our gay fiesta,

I will give you
his favorite epithet.

"All the world's a stage,

and all the men and women
merely players."

Tonight, we will be

the audience to you.

How you feeling,
Aunt Lou?

- I'm getting dinner ready.
- Don't.

Isn't right you serving supper
to strangers when you're in such grief.

- I want to.
- No.

Ahem!

Kitchen's closed.

The sustenance I would take
in any case, Mr. Hearst,

like a newly-hatched bird,

would come, I would hope,
from your mouth.

Don't follow
so damn close.

Kill you if I could,
George Hearst.

Sir! Do your tumble!
Do you have a colleague?

Tumble, sir!
Tumble away!

Magnificent!

Well done! Bravo!

A round of applause
for our dueling gymnastics!

And again,
who's there next?

Our pick of the week?!

On you go, sir.

Bravo! Bravo! Bravo.

Young lady,
you'd raised your hand.

I have a sense you might
favor us with a song.

When my dad died,
I didn't even cry.

Here you are,
I'll give you a dollar.

You cry right
for him right now.

Oh! Look at this!
Look!

That is the best
fucking thing

I have ever heard
in my life!

- Indeed it is, sir!
- Get off me, sir!

Thank you, young lady,
thank you!

Hell, it's easy for you.

You didn't know
the cocksucker.

What's the upshot?

What the fuck is
that supposed to mean?

I was arrested,
I was locked up.

What's the upshot?

Go and sin no more.

- Go ahead, Charlie.
- Where?

Go ahead to the fucking
amateur night.

You don't mind?
All right.

I believe I'll
attend badgeless,

lest I put a damper
on stupidities.

Hmm.

Hmm.

Grandpa's trick.

It is, yes.

And we oughtn't to let
that spoil it for us.

Such elegance!

Such dexterity!

Ah, magnifico, magnifico!

Let's hear it
for the lariat lad.

Get outta here
with that fucking nonsense.

Get outta here before
I cut your fucking throat!

Go on!
Fucking amateur night.

Some people gotta...

fucking work, hmm?

Look at this!

A mystery from the East.

Magnificent, young lady.

Well done, young lady.
Well done, well done.

Ah!

Little fucking James, huh?

He is a chatterbox.

"Why why why?" Shut the fuck up
and maybe you'll find out.

He liked the tree house
most of any.

What's a tree house doing
way the fuck up there?

I like them
school kids.

Well done, well done. Ah!

Orbs of gold!

The wonderful
Mr. Richardson.

And his magic orbs.

And again, sir, and again.

And again, sir!
Hidden talents!

Richardson!

You're done.

Envy is a cardinal sin,
Mr. Farnum.

Cardinal sin.

How many are they?

265 soldiers have bivouacked
near Sturgis now.

Another 200 could be brought
to the hills if needed.

Why can't the soldiers
near Sturgis vote twice?

Reinforcements
are available

should poll watchers
prove hostile to repeaters.

Come forward, God damn it.
My back fucking worsens.

I am so sorry, sir.

Better you dizzy than me have to turn
around and look at you.

These votes will support

candidates
of your preference

in each office,
Mr. Hearst,

as if cast
by you yourself.

My stringent instruction
from Governor Pennington

is to convey
upon my return

a confirmation
in your hand

that... that we have
had this conversation.

Then the Governor in turn
confirms the rumor he's a moron.

My heavens, no.

I don't mean that he would
seek your signature

on any itemizing
of particulars,

merely to confirm
the fact that I spoke to you.

Oh my God.

Oft confused
with the Most High,

though our inseams
got different lengths.

Fuck you. Fuck you!

You can't
come in here, Cy.

I suppose
I could if I want to.

If you need us to talk, we can
do it somewheres else.

- It ain't for you to come in here.
- Fuck you, Joanie Stubbs,

and your fucked-out whores thinking
what's mine to come into and ain't.

Come on, girl.

Come on close.

Come on.

Mose!

Help, Miss Stubbs.
I'm too afraid.

What a lovely tree

inside a building.

Is that a darling
fucking tree house

in the precious
fucking branches

for the shitheel
little kids

to play amongst
in jolly joy?

Get away, you!

- Well now, Mose.
- Go on!

You fat bastard.

I'll hold your heart in my hand for your
beady little rat eyes to look at

before I shove it down
your fucking throat!

Cy!

I wonder how till tonight I found my way
in the world at all,

not having my steps directed
at every fucking quarter.

- Go along.
- I got fucking places to go.

Isn't this fun, man? Huh?

Ah! The camp giant!

Oh!

What a figure.

What a figure. Look at this!
Look at this!

Look at that,
ladies and gentlemen.

Well done.
Bravo, bravo.

Bravo.
Magnificent.

- Ah!
- Look at that.

Look at my eye.

Ah!