When we last left the unfortunate citizens of the stinkiest town in the West, Wild Bill Hickok had finally turned his luck at the poker tables against Slimeball Jack McCall. In this episode, we open with Bill going yet another round over at Cy's place with his dirty little nemesis, and winning again. McCall is nonplussed. With Joanie as dealer, he sits amazed at his bad fortune, complaining that Bill is taking these hands through nothing but luck, rather than skill. Bill's nice about it, even sliding a bit of money over to Jack at the end, nicely telling him to get himself something eat. "All right," McCall says, with yet more surprise and even more stupidity, "I thank you for that kindness. You just bought yourself something with that." Every occupant of the joint is over ol' McCall at this point. Probably, they can no longer tolerate the odor, since the dirt on his face has reached Pigpen levels. Barely waiting for him to get out of earshot, Cy drones to Eddie that "some boys can't go near a cliff without jumping off."
Bill's still rolling his eyes when he slides Joanie a twenty-dollar tip, thanking her for her service. "Any idea for the rest?" she asks, suggesting service of a different kind. He says he believes he'll stay with cash, and heads out. Aw. It's heartwarming to think he's staying faithful to his new wife or something, until you see him wandering down the street to meet up with his man-crush, Seth Bullock. Too worn out to clench, Bullock is still working on the erection (oh...haaaa!) of his store, alone and in the cool of the evening. They exchange the pleasantries of two men who are clearly forming a mutual admiration society, and Bill asks if Bullock's all right with the nickname he's given him: "Montana." If that doesn't give y'all the gay vibe, I don't know what will. Anyway, Bullock says that he's fine with it, seeing as how the only other nickname he's ever had was "Sloth." (Except for "Clench," which he doesn't know that all of us have calling him behind his back. Shh!) Bill says "Sloth" doesn't quite seem to fit him, and as Bullock raises yet another beam in the store frame, it's difficult not to agree. "Choice was among the seven sins," Bullock explains. "Guess I got out before the others surfaced."
I like Timothy Olyphant and Keith Carradine together. Both of these roles are so macho-good-guy-misunderstood-hero...seeing them together somehow balances them both out to a manageable level.
Looking out over the main thoroughfare, Bill comments that the "camp looks like a good bet." Bullock says that his wife and son are in Michigan with family and that he hopes he can bring them out soon. Bill says that when peace is finally made with the Sioux, Deadwood will turn into a real town with laws and "every other damn thing." I have to wonder what other damn things he's talking about, considering the damnable things currently featured. Bullock says he'd settle for just getting property rights, and Bill smirks, doubtful that Bullock would ever settle for anything less than complete justice for everyone in town. They talk about Bill's own wife, who runs a circus, waiting for word of his prospecting success. Bullock tells him on that subject that he and Sol have put aside their last sifting cradle for his use: "Why don't you go ahead and use it, Bill?" Hickok sighs. "What slows me down is thinking about freezing my balls off in a creek," he says. "Or the cocksuckers I'd lose my gold to at poker." Wild Bill knows himself. He pauses again before saying he's flat-out tired. This is all laden with symbolism, of course, with Bullock clenching meaningfully at his shoot-'em-up hero before oh-so-seriously telling Bill to "turn in," glancing back at the thoroughfare to add, "I got 'er covered." What's awesome is you can SEE Olyphant trying desperately not to make it cheesy. This little scene of friendship blossoming is very sweet, but the cheddar in this dialogue is so ripe you can smell it, and yeomen's work though both actors are doing, they can't overcome it. Bill says he believes he will turn in, and heads out, saying, "Goodnight, Montana," and adding as he walks away that "my pop called me 'Kite.'" With this he tacks on a weird little wave to Bullock (who gives an unprecedented smile in response) and makes his way back to the hotel.
There, he finds a fuming Charlie sitting on his bed in their room. Charlie says he was supposed to leave for Cheyenne two damn hours ago. "What kept you, Charlie?" Bill wearily asks. Charlie sighs, not even bothering to hide his eye-rolling. "You don't fuckin' sleep," he says. "I don't know what in the fuck is happening to you, Bill." Hickok doesn't really appreciate Charlie's mothering. "So," he says, like an asshole, "you stayed in camp to tuck me in?" Poor Charlie. So hopeful that he's going to wake up and have his friend be acting right. He tells Bill that if he doesn't want to prospect, he can take over one of Charlie's new mail routes. Bill ain't interested. "I'm doing what I want to do," he says, flatly. Charlie can't handle it: "Bull-shit." But Bill goes on and on about how at some point in a man's life, he's due to stop fooling himself about trying to be a good person and just admit that he's a big ass. I mean, that's the gist. It's got to be hard being Bill's friend, and I feel for Charlie in a thousand ways. This dude, he's got it all: the looks, the good hair, the shoot-'em-up skills. The girls like him. Mr. Perfect. Everybody loves him. Of course, he hates himself, so he's also a drunk who gambles away all his money, and Charlie has to run around picking up the pieces. What Bill wants to do, he tells Charlie, is gamble. "I don't want to fight it no more," he says. "And I don't want you pissing in my ear about it. Can you let me go to hell the way I want to?" Dayton Callie, who plays Charlie -- the guy is just a genius. He's a good friend to a guy who is bad at being friends, and the frustration when he answers "yeah, I can do that" comes through so strong, it brings a tear to my eye. He leaves, on his way to Cheyenne, and the two men say goodbye and wish each other luck.
In Al's office, E.B. thinks he's subtly quizzing Al on his reasons for wanting to buy back Garret's claim. He doesn't know yet that it isn't worthless. The timing could not be more perfect for Al, for as he takes a sip of his morning coffee, he glances down into the street to see Dan leading a horse with the dead body of Brom Garret over its back. "Jesus Christ," he says, all falsely dramatic. "The dude must have had some kind of accident." E.B. doesn't seem overly surprised. Now Al can explain to E.B. about his (fake) plan: "See, my reasoning was," he lies, "get the dude his money back, keep him from asking in the Pinkertons." E.B. slyly notes that it appears now that buying back the claim will not be necessary. Thus, E.B. is surprised when Al tells him to make a $20,000 offer on the claim to Garret's newly widowed wife. E.B. is no longer following: "Al, once that dope fiend throws her skirts over her head and hightails it back to New York," he asks, "do you think she'll give one wet fart about what goes on here in this camp? Let alone send the Pinkertons out?" He closes, reminding Al that twenty grand is a lot of money. See, Al doesn't need to be told how much money it is, is the thing. Al knows. Al knows...everything. Why E.B. hasn't caught on to that after so much hoodwinking and mouth-smacking and ball-busting and multiple hours staring into the dark recesses of Al's mustache, I don't know. He hasn't, though, and now Al has to school him (further), explaining that twenty thousand is a small price to pay if it keeps the Pinkertons from coming in and killing him. This is true, sure, but what he's not telling E.B. is that the claim actually has gold on it, and that is why he wants to buy it. He tells E.B. to "go see to the grieving fucking widow," and the lackey snakes out to the street where the grieving fucking widow has gone to view the body of her husband.
It's a great scene in the thoroughfare, for real. For all the drama of the whole dead-husband thing, the street is flooded with sunshine, almost to an obscene degree. Molly Parker, who should wear this color every day for the rest of her life, is dressed in a green velvet robe over a pristine white nightdress. She silently observes Brom's head wound while Dan musters up his best mournful look and stands by, looking sad.
E.B. emerges from the Gem, hat in hand, offering his slimy condolences and asking if she requires the doctor. "To treat your terrible grief," he swiftly adds, glancing at the obviously dead body of Mr. Garret. Mrs. G turns and says that yes, she would like to see the doctor, but that she first would like him to examine her husband's injuries. "I'd like his opinion on how they were sustained," she says. E.B. stupidly says that he assumes Mr. Garret died in a fall. "All I asked you," she snaps back, "was to get the goddamned doctor." As E.B. oozes off, she turns back to Dan and asks him in her laudanum whisper if this tragic accident was truly that, an accident. Dan says he's sorry, and sees from the look in her eyes that she doesn't believe any of this accident story for even a second.
Nor should she. Seconds later, we see Dan behind the bar at the Gem, washing her husband's blood off his hands as he recaps this recent scene for Al. "She wouldn't have nothin' to do with me, Al," he says. "She told E.B. to have Doc go over the body." And speaking of E.B., he quietly asks Al if he thinks E.B. will figure out the real scheme about there actually being gold on the claim. Al says no, that E.B.'s too busy sniffing out what he can make being go-between on the sale between Al and Mrs. G. "Whereas you, Dan," Al goes on, "you showed foresight and loyalty, the way you handled making the find." Dan shrugs. "Just know when I'm out of my depth," he says. Aw, Dan. If your boss wasn't Satan, you'd be employee of the month.
Meanwhile, E.B. has walked the horse carrying the body over to Doc's cabin. He ain't happy about it. He tells Doc that Al wants the widow to leave camp with the least possible sour taste in her mouth about how her Brom has died. "Well," Doc smarts, "wouldn't you expect her husband's death to be sour on her tongue no matter how it happened?" Good one, Doc. But, you know, probably not, since Brom was a bit of a fop and not much more. E.B. has to point out the real issue: Al wants fate blamed for Garret's death, rather than himself. Down the road, a shirtless (hello) Bullock continues to work on the framework of his store. Sol arrives, saying good morning and asking when Bullock got up that day. "I didn't go to sleep," he answers, all sweaty. He shakes his head, telling Sol about seeing Brom Garret's body being led down to the Doc's cabin. Sol squints like he's sorry to hear that, before looking up to notice his friend's sweaty muscles...I MEAN...significant progress on the building. "Well," he says, smiling, "you weren't twiddling your thumbs all night, were you?"
Merrick the newspaperman is serving himself up a gross breakfast in the hotel when E.B. comes through with Doc, leading him upstairs to Mrs. G's room. Doc tries to give his condolences to the severe widow, but she interrupts him, asking point blank if her husband was murdered. "I was told he fell from a ridge," Doc says. "He had skull fractures consistent with that." He goes on that Brom had not been shot or strangled, and there were no other signs of foul play. "Leaving how he came to fall," Mrs. G says. Doc tells her he can give no opinion on that. She turns up the knob and locks it in at "haughty bitch," nodding and sighing: "And yet...in treating me, you were so full of opinion." She's busting him for so ostentatiously telling her last time they met that she needn't make up symptoms to procure laudanum for her addiction. She wonders if his normal opinionated nature is being dampened by "other considerations," or "other men." Meaning Al. Doc looks at her hard and slowly repeats that he does not know how her husband's skull got caved in. She winces at this as he goes on. "You're a bright woman, aren't you?" he says. "You must have gone through hell here." At this, he pulls out a new bottle of laudanum and, making his exit, tells her to go on home. Outside the room, he passes E.B., who foolishly asks, "What's her mood?" Heeeeee. Poor E.B.
Well, her mood ain't good. We hear a bottle breaking and cut back into the room where she has thrown the laudanum against the wall and broken down in sobs. E.B. chooses this moment to offer his services. She yells that she will certainly need a coffin. He says he'll see to it and then asks that she open the door so he can say something to her face. She complies, and he tells her that he is overcome with remorse, having failed to change the course of events by allowing himself to be outbid on the claim when he was up against Brom to purchase it. Of course, since the purchase was a scam set up by Al to bilk Garret out of his money, E.B. is overcome here by nothing but greed. He tells the widow that if it will simplify her situation in any way, he'd like to renew his offer for the claim...at twelve thousand dollars. Sneaky bastard, E.B. Mrs. Garret smells a rat and shoos him away, telling him he'll have an answer shortly. E.B. oils away.Glancing at her wasted laudanum, Mrs. G steels herself and leaves her room to cross the hall. She knocks on Wild Bill's door and finds Jane. "Is this Mr. Hickok's room?" Mrs. G asks, confused, and when Jane wants to know who's asking, she starts to explain. "My husband's just died under suspicious circumstances," she says. Jane interrupts, rolling her eyes: "Suspect someone else," she says. "When Bill's killed a man, he says so and states his reasons." Now there's a born public relations spokeswoman if I've ever seen one. Mrs. G quickly says that she does not suspect Bill, and explains how Brom had previously tried to hire Bill to look into Al's meddling on his gold claim. "And I thought," she says, "though they hadn't come to terms, that Mr. Hickok might be willing to advise me on my current situation." Jane is listening to all this in a confused but sympathetic manner -- she feels sorry for Mrs. G that she has no one else in the camp, and does what she can to awkwardly express condolences. It's a sweet scene, but Molly Parker is still doing the whole laudanum addict whispery graceful lady voice, which I cannot abide. Speak up, lady! It's the Wild West! All these people are partially deaf from constant fighting and syphilis and pouring whiskey directly into their ear canals! They can't hear you. Jane tells her to go back and wait in her room -- she'll get Bill, but "it'll take him a while to get the phlegm situated."
Down at the Bella Union, Cy and Joanie are meeting with the doc to set up their whore-doctorin' schedule. They propose an exorbitant fee for Doc's services, and he agrees, wide-eyed. It's all just to get one over on Al, of course, who does not take even slightly good care of his working girls, but I'm glad Doc benefits. Powers Boothe -- who, honest to God, wears more makeup on this show than Cyndi Lauper in the '80s -- looks up at the end of this conversation to see a serious man walk in with a satchel. He goes over and gives the guy a "howdy," and the man introduces himself. "Name's Cramed," he says. "I'd like a room; I'd like exclusive use of the safe; and I'd like to shoot some dice." Cy smarms that he'd like to consider this the first day of a long friendship. They walk through the saloon talking about the safe and the room and all that, and when Cy leads him behind the cashier's cage, it is revealed that all this introduction crap was a ruse for the locals. They know each other quite well. "So," Andy Cramed says, after saying hello to Eddie and Joanie, "let's go. Let's get something working." Apparently, these four have run scams together in the past. "We could rob Cy," Eddie jokes. Rob him of what? His funds or his foundation? Because Cy has got a storehouse full of Cork Silk loose powder somewhere that ought to be worth big dollars on the black market. Cy has another suggestion, anyway. "How about a bath first? And a nap," he says. "And...some sex with an unfamiliar woman." Oh, Cy. You do know how to please a man. Andy says sure, but the dude is on edge and he repeats that he'd "like to get something fucking working." They're all looking at him funny, because he's a bit sweaty and acting weird, so when he walks off, Cy asks Joanie how she thinks Andy looks. She says a bit defensively that he looks like a guy who just took a long road trip, and I have to be on her side about this one. If dirt and sweat and foul mood were evidence of illness, everyone in Deadwood would have to be quarantined for life. Speaking of those three qualities, over at the Gem, E.B. is reporting on Mrs. Garret's reaction to his offer on her claim. Al is a tad surprised that she did not accept it outright, but then, remembering who he's talking to, gives E.B. the eyebrow to confirm that he did offer than whole twenty thousand, as ordered, right? E.B. has the nerve to try to deny it for a second, but then gives in. He only offered her twelve, he admits. Al can't believe it. "Did I ask you to play her?" Al sighs. E.B., nervy once again, says that he thinks Mrs. G will take the twelve thousand and be glad to get it. "And all you'll have to decide," he closes, "is how much of the eight you save shall go to me." In spite of himself, Al is impressed. "You're incorrigible," he tells his slimiest lackey, and E.B. says he does his best.
Back at the hotel, Mrs. G is laying out her troubles for Wild Bill and Jane. "I suggested to my husband just last night," she says, playing the grieving widow for all she's worth, "that we should try to view our time here as one experience bought at a single price." Man. How hard would you fight at the customer service counter for a refund if you'd purchased a "Deadwood experience" for twenty large? Bill and Jane look on grimly as Mrs. G explains that taking money from Al, since she thinks he's the one responsible for her husband's death, would make her an accomplice in that death. "I need to know what I'd be selling them," she says. She doesn't think they're offering her the money to keep the Pinkertons at bay. Why wouldn't they just buy it back from Brom as he wanted in the first place? Bill agrees to try to figure out what's going on. Mrs. Garret offers him a hundred dollars for this service, and he politely accepts. E.B. watches as he leaves the hotel and heads straight for the Gem.
Arriving there, he orders a whiskey from Dan and waits for Al to appear. When he does, bidden by Johnny, all eyes are on the two biggest badasses in town. "I'm Al Swearengen, Mr. Hickok," Al says. "For the last few days, I've been locked in my room, weeping. Searching my memories as to where my path might have crossed your -- and as to how I might have given offense -- that you'd stay in this camp not fifty feet from my joint and never once walk in." Bill answers this flood of language with an easy explanation: "No poker." Haaa! Good one, Bill. "Is it that simple?" Al asks, mockingly incredulous. "Dan, dismantle the titty corner and set up a poker table." Bill says that's not necessary, and Al nods. "I always felt poker slows a joint's action," he says. "Been a liquor, pussy, and faro man my entire fucking career." Bill doesn't bother with any more small talk. Straight to the point, he explains that the widow of the man who fell off the rocks has had an offer on his claim "by that innkeeper sitting in the corner," and that she is reluctant to sell until she understands what is behind it. Al plays the innocent, asking why Bill's asking him about it. "She believes you'd know," Bill says. Al takes a swig of whiskey, pissed, and launches into his whole Pinkertons excuse. "I do not need the Pinkertons here," he says, "swarming like locusts." So, he tells Bill, he bent over for Garret, telling him to fully reconnoiter his claim, and if he still wasn't satisfied, he'd give his money back. Well, yeah, that is technically what he told him, sure. It's just that he's leaving out the part where he then told Dan to kill him. It's all just too unfortunate that the dude died, Al says. "Up jumps the widow in righteous indignation," he closes. "Wants the doc to examine him for murder wounds. My vision of locusts returns." He goes on to say that he recognizes that Mrs. G is grieving, and tries to flim-flam Bill into believing that E.B. was the underbidder on the original sale, and that is why he's making all the offers. Y'all, it's fucking complicated, okay? There is so much double-crossing going on, James Bond would throw himself on a fountain pen grenade and just be done with it. In spite of Al's absolutely brilliant lying, Bill ain't really going for it. However, he says he'll take all this information back to the widow. "I only hope you'll show it to her in a favorable fucking light," Al says. Showing his own talent for the double-double-cross, Bill takes a swig of whiskey and asks what that's worth to Al, who is in disbelief that the gunslinger is now trying to play him and, almost demurely, grins: "Why, Wild Bill."Back at the hotel, Bill arrives to inform Mrs. Garret of his opinion on the matter. He tells her to defer a decision on the whole situation until someone can do a second reconnoiter on the claim. She asks if he'll do it, but he says he's not qualified. "I do know someone I trust to ask," he says. "Name's Bullock. I'll go talk to him now." As he goes to do just that, Jane asks how he left things with Al. Bill smiles. "In terms he'd understand," he says.
Al's thinking on those terms right now, actually, as E.B. kisses his ass, saying that watching him pull one over on Bill was a thing of beauty. Something in Al's manner, though, says he's not sure he came out the winner on that whole exchange. He tells E.B. that if Mrs. G doesn't show up with an offer in an hour, E.B.'s to pay a call on her.
At the bar, Ellsworth strolls up, orders a drink, and tells Dan to ask him the key to a long life. Dan says he'll buy the drink if Ellsworth tells him. "Same as a dog who keeps his nose," Ellsworth replies. "Don't poke it where it don't belong." Dan agrees that those are wise words. Ellsworth says that it's a hard lesson, but one he's thoroughly learned. Dan's starting to get curious now at all this expostulation, especially when Ellsworth goes on, "Something else I know. And my knowing it, and somebody else knowing it is two entirely different things." Dan says he's losing the trail of thought, here. Ellsworth drops the bomb. He saw "someone" get pushed off "a ridge," and he says if it means leaving camp to prove that he can mind his own business, he'd do it to avoid being killed. What he's asking for is fair warning, is all. Dan's concerned as he ponders this. "It's my whole philosophy and outlook," Ellsworth finishes. "Make use of it as you will."
Down at Nuttall's, McCall is once again stinking up the joint. He's wearing out the dealers with the story of his loss to Bill the night before in the Bella Union. "Miracle to me is," one of the dealers drones, "that you sit here bragging about it." McCall says he ain't braggin', and then drunkenly tries to smart off to them about Bill giving him a buck and sending him off for a meal, implying that if anyone else did that to him he'd shoot them. "I possess a fuckin' gun that I didn't bet," he says. The dealer tells him he'll buy the gun off him right now to give him a stake to start a new game up. McCall, however, declines. "No," he says, getting up to stagger out of the joint. "I believe not." The dealers sigh, and one of them says in just about the worst radio DJ voice I have EVER heard: "He, too, is Gooooood's handiwooooork." Like he's telling you to tune back in from 10 PM to midnight for the Quiet Storm, seriously. I have to rewind it several times -- some of the extras on this show must be cousins of the crew or something, because honestly, they kill me.Bill is over at the still-under-construction hardware store, getting ol' Goody-Two-Shoes Bullock to help out with the widow's reconnoitering (so, that's what the kids are calling it these days). Bullock says that he, too, is underqualified to do the job, and would have to bring someone over from Montana to do it. Sol asks if Mrs. G would wait that long, and Bill says yes. "She don't want to be stupid, or fooled," he says. "She wants to stand up for her husband better than he stood up for himself." Of course, he says, he doesn't think she should stick around in camp. Bullock says she could sign a proxy if she wanted to leave. He's close to taking the job. "There's her hundred in it," he says, "and what that saloonkeeper gave me if you'd want to take it on." Aw, Bill. He's not even keeping Al's bribe. We see Jack McCall skirting around while this conversation goes on, staring at Bill in a menacing way. The anvil looms ever closer. Bill says he figures Mrs. G's all right unless Al decides he's not going to pull off the scam. The underutilized Sol sighs, and says Mrs. Garret ought to be looking for a wagon. Bill and Bullock look at each other with barely concealed passion, for real, and Bill thanks "Montana" for the favor. I cringe on Keith Carradine's behalf for the continued forced use of the nickname.
At the Gem, Dan is talking things out with his counselor, Trixie. He's apparently told her all about Ellsworth seeing him kill Brom, and has explained his conflict over whether or not killing Ellsworth is going to be necessary. "I like Ellsworth, too," Dan says, shrugging an Emmy-worthy shrug. Dan figures Ellsworth doesn't normally get into other people's bidness, but worries that his own standards as to who's reliable "ain't the same as Al's." Trixie: "So Ellsworth has to leave camp over the difference?" Dan says that he does if it's between that or killing him. "He said to tell him if those were the choices," he explains. Trixie exhales her nine hundredth drag on her homemade cig, saying "don't you do it." Dan gets serious. "Which?" he asks. Trixie: "Either." Poor Dan. He just needs advice on whether or not to kill his buddy, okay?
Upstairs, Al is beginning to see the situation with Wild Bill and Mrs. G as it really is. "Asks a bribe for something he never intends to do," he mutters. "Takes my hundred and fifty, then tells her not to sell." E.B., standing by, wonders how Al can be so sure Bill has done this. Al goes through it with him yet again. Hickok couldn't have told her to sell it, or she would have already agreed to sell it. Al is supremely frustrated. "I'd say Hickok has to die if I have to kill him, myself." E.B. can't take it. "Jesus, Al," he says, worried. "With all that's going on? How would it sit with the widow, for one thing?" Al's over it. "Let me pose you a question, E.B., you fucking c*nt: Someone comes at you, what are you supposed to do about it?" For whatever reason, E.B. chooses this moment to challenge his boss and mentor. He gets almost surly with Al (though it is all out of love, of course). "And I'll pose you a question back, Al Swearengen," he half-yells. "If a friend, or at least a professional colleague has the mistaken impression that someone is coming at him who isn't, what are you supposed to do then, huh?!" Al is taken aback at this show of loyalty. Wide-eyed, he asks E.B., "You don't think he's coming at me?" E.B. says no, he doesn't. He goes on to say that Al's got so much on his plate, he sometimes gets to feeling "beset" and, in that frame of mind, takes things personally. Al considers this as he lists all the things he's currently worrying about. "I need to fuck something," he says, calling for his tried and true stress reliever, Trixie. You know, some people just meditate, Al, damn.Trixie goes to the bar to get a bottle to take up, and confronts Dan with a jutted chin and a thumb pointed over towards Ellsworth. She wants to know what Dan's decided. "Don't be pointin' your fuckin' thumb for me, Trixie," Dan tells her. "Me and you done talked that subject out." Pissed, she heads upstairs. From his place at the corner table, Ellsworth calls out to Dan, asking him what's new. "Nothin'," Dan answers, with significance. Ellsworth pushes the point: "No news at all?" Dan sighs. "If I had somethin' to tell you, Ellsworth," he says, "one way or another, I'd tell it to you." I guess this passes for assurance in Deadwood. In any case, Ellsworth reckons he'll have another drink.
Back at the Bella Union, Andy Cramed is in bad shape up in his room. He's shaking and shivering on his bed when Joanie comes to the door with a bottle. He pulls himself together to answer the door, claiming to have fallen asleep before he could order his bath from the ladies. Joanie asks if he's "ready to meet some strange," and gets worried when she sees that Andy...ain't right. He admits that he is not well, and when she tries to take his boots off for him, tells her he doesn't think she should even touch him. "No girl in the world ever got sick pulling off a pair of boots, Andy," she says. "But if you want, I won't take more liberties." Downstairs, Cy and Eddie are hornswaggling Merrick, purchasing a crazy amount of advertising in his newspaper, enough to make his journalistic ethics flare up, until Cy gives him three months' payment in advance and offers him fifty bucks an issue. Merrick is struck dumb and can only ask, "Seriously?" Joanie comes down and breaks it to Cy that he was right, Andy is sick. Cy's pissed. He sends one of his goons out to get the Doc, telling him to claim someone "fell."
In her room at the hotel, Mrs. G is thanking Bill -- not like that! -- for being her emissary. He asks her when she expects to leave the camp. "I'm not certain," she says. He tells her that Bullock is honorable and that she can trust him to see to her interests. "He couldn't come more highly recommended," she says, as she tries to ward off the laudanum shakes that are now overtaking her. Wild Bill gets serious, and turns up his Old West flare to eleven: "You know the sound of thunder, don't you, Mrs. Garret?" She says that yes, she does. Hickok: "Can you imagine that sound if I ask you to?" She says she can. Bill says that he had this same talk with her husband, and that he told Brom to "head home to avoid a dark result." But, he goes on, "I didn't say it in thunder. Ma'am, listen to the thunder." A pile of awards should go to both of these actors for getting through this scene without snickering. I really, really hate to bag on it, because they both do a great job, but come on. Carradine gets the cheesiest lines, ever. Mrs. G looks appropriately sobered as Wild Bill makes his stiff exit, wishing her luck and accepting her gratitude.
Back at the Bella Union, Doc has arrived to see to this "fall" that has allegedly occurred. When he sees the guard Cy has posted outside Room 8, he knows something else is up. In his room at the hotel, Bill is writing a letter at his desk when Jane knocks on the door with the little girl. Jane is happy to report that the little girl's fever has broken. Bill says something sweet to her, and the girl answers in her native tongue. It sounds like, "Oh eh, mama-ee?" Bill smiles. "Did she just ask to borrow money?" he says, making Jane laugh. He updates her on his talks with Bullock, and she is glad that Bullock has agreed to take on the claim issue. They're all smiles having this quiet conversation, and it's sweet. Jane really loves him. She realizes that she's interrupted him in his privacy, and Bill says he was just finishing up a letter to his wife. Jane looks mortified, in that complicated way women have when they're in love with someone. "Why didn't you say something, damn you?" she asks, heading out with the little girl, and the shadow of the anvil is almost blocking out the sun as the two pause to tell each other "so long." Bill puts the finishing touches on his letter and stands, donning his dramatic red sash, preparing to go out.
In his room above the Gem, Al is, ahem, relieving his stress with Trixie. Vigorously. Like to the point where I have to cover my dog's eyes.
But back at the Bella Union, no one has any relief. Andy is in the throes of a miserable fever. He is repeatedly moaning about the pain in his back and talking fevered nonsense. "Um," Doc says, "I'm gonna get you something to ease that." Looking on, Cy asks what Andy's got. Joanie is very worried. No one's saying so, but it's smallpox.
In her room at the hotel, Mrs. G is babbling to Jane and the squarehead girl about how her father was the best company when she was little. He refused to ever let her be sad. "Not permitted," she says. She goes on to tell about how, the night she was presented to society, he was able to attend only by "physically fleeing some dismal legal difficulty." Oh, man. Mrs. G has a Bad Dad. "In that sense," she says, "my marriage to Mr. Garret was a tremendous solution." This is beginning to explain a lot about Mrs. Garret. She quotes her father on her wedding day: "Darling," he told her, "I can never repay you for what you are about to do, but...I can repay everyone else." Oh, a really Bad Dad. She goes on to tell Jane that her father said that thinking of her in Deadwood with Brom was almost unbearable. Guilt-ridden, she reveals that her response was, "Maybe he'll die." Damn, Mrs. G. That's rough.The long day continues in Deadwood: Andy Cramed's fever develops apace; Al and Trixie have completed their, you know, relief; Bullock and Sol continue their pounding (not like that! of nails!) at the hardware store; and down at Nuttall's, Wild Bill Hickok is doing what he loves best -- playing poker. Behind him, the door to the saloon opens, and in his eyes, we see that he must "hear the thunder." Jack McCall walks up and, without a word, shoots him the back. Everybody freaks. McCall runs out, shouting a belated "damn you," and the men in the bar run after him. Nuttall himself overtakes McCall in the mud and gives him a good smack before dragging him up and into the thoroughfare. Everybody is running around, crazy, heading towards Nuttall's. Bullock and Sol see the commotion, and Bullock automatically heads toward it. Jane and Mrs. G watch from the window, and Jane feels the same pull and heads to the street. She finds the poker dealer who has come out and is watching the men surround McCall. She asks him what happened. "He shot Wild Bill Hickok," the man says, in disbelief. In shock, Jane wanders away. As if enough hell hasn't just broken loose, a rider suddenly charges into the thoroughfare, holding aloft the head of an Indian. I suppose he's come to make good on Al's bounty for the head of one of the bloodthirsty savages who allegedly attacked the squarehead family. He couldn't have picked a better moment to make his entrance.
The rest of the town is befuddled by all the action, and Bullock and Jane arrive alone to find Bill dead at Nuttall's. They are overcome with grief, Jane so much so that she picks up a bottle of whiskey and practically empties it while Bullock begins to cry.