The night is dark as Bullock and Charlie ride into what looks like an army encampment. I'm not sure what it is, exactly, but there are gates. Bullock sees the horse on which McCall made his ride out of Deadwood, and shows it to Charlie. They roll up on some guys sitting around outside and do a little song and dance for their benefit. "Look at that paint, Charlie," Bullock says. "I had a happy just like that." Charlie makes a big deal of rolling his eyes, and tells the men that Bullock makes him miserable reminiscing about that old horse. Bullock asks the men if they know the owner. "If he'd sell the horse," Charlie says, "is what he really wants to know." Grimly, one of the men says that he doesn't know if the owner would sell, "but the fuckin' jerk is in that bunkhouse." Bullock and Charlie thank him and head inside.
They easily find McCall, drunk, with his head down on an empty card table. "Jack McCall," Bullock says, waking the slumbering idiot who slurs that he doesn't want to play anymore. "Being a loudmouth c*nt," Bullock continues, speaking generally to the ruffians gathered in the bunkhouse, "I guess sometime since he's been here, this fella, who don't want to play no more, probably spoke of killin' Wild Bill Hickok. Well, we're Bill Hickock's friends." The place empties immediately, and the three men are left alone. McCall looks instantly sober. Behind him, he hears the two men name themselves. "And if you got your head blown off sittin' here with your back turned," Bullock adds, "that'd be as fair play as you gave him." Things are tense for a moment before Bullock releases the hammer and, instead of shooting McCall like the dirtbomb deserves, he merely pistol-whips him.
We cut to see Bullock hog-tying him over the paint. The man they spoke to earlier wanders up: "I guess you wanted to soften him up some before you made your offer?" Bullock smirks, too exhausted to clench. Riding out, he tells Charlie that his plan is to take McCall to Yankton and let them deliver whatever justice they see fit. "If you got a different idea," he adds, "you can ride ahead." Charlie looks at him for only a second before agreeing. "Let's take the cocksucker to Yankton."
The morning, Dan is getting the Gem ready for business, talking to two young people who have come in looking for their father. He says he does not know of a Henry Anderson in camp, though that doesn't mean there isn't one. The girl, played by Kristen Bell from your beloved Veronica Mars, looks especially fresh-faced and innocent. The young man says they have a picture they'd like Dan to see, taken of their father twelve years ago in the army. Dan reaches for it, but the girl asks if she can just hold it for him to look at. "With so much showing," she says, "it's pretty near falling apart." You can almost see Dan's heart -- and, excuse me for saying so, groin -- grow three sizes as he leans over her shoulder, taking the liberty to place his hand on hers as she points to her father. He says the man does not look familiar. They say their dad wrote to them from Bismarck, saying he was coming to the hills to prospect. Some random blowhard at one of the tables overhears all this and has to ring in with his two cents. He says there's no guarantee that their father is anywhere near Deadwood. "And there's no fucking joy in me telling you that," he says, "but it's the goddamn truth and the way human beings are." Kristen Bell gets nervous. She says her father said he would send for them and their mother, who has, sadly, passed away since then. Dan looks kind of sad about this, and says that he's sorry, wishing them luck. He shuts down the boy when he asks for work, but Al, descending from his lair and seemingly with hearing more powerful than any creature on Earth since he was nowhere near this entire exchange, stops them all, saying that he can give the girl a job right now. They politely decline. Man. Politely declining a whore job at the Gem would be like sending a rejection letter to, like, anthrax: "Dear Poison, I deeply regret I will not be able to accept your offer of skin-melting death at this time."
But see, Al's in a benevolent mood. He reverses on Dan's original statement and says he can offer the boy four bits a day to push a broom around the place. "I bet you'd like the first in advance," Al says, all businesslike. The boy says yes, if Al doesn't mind, and Al nods to Dan to deliver the payment. "Same for her," he says, indicating the sister, "as regrets for me being such a ruffian." Oh, Al. You charming devil. Yes, here's a dollar for me suggesting you take up continual, enslaved sexual violation as an occupation. Sorry about that! They girl leaves, telling her brother that she'll see him later. Al says she can come back for her brother at ten. Miles, the brother, dramatically tells her to find a safe place to wait. Glancing over at Jewel, who has been wrestling this whole time with a broom on one stair, Al tells Miles: "We teach a special sweepin' technique here. Follow her lead."
In the smallpox tent, things are busy. The Reverend is doing his best for poor Joey, who is in the deep throes of the worst part of the sickness. He asks Jane to watch over the kid while he goes to the graveyard to bury Brom Garret. "I'd have bet a month's wages that burial would've took place in New York City," Jane says, laughing, "if I had a payin' fuckin' job." Reverend Smith tells her that Joey seems to be soothed by a wet cloth to his lips, and Jane says all right. She's sober, and seems to like what she's doing. She should, since her first patient, Andy Cramed, is back to his old self. Doc is thrilled. "You might want to steer clear of your reflection for a while," he tells the pockmarked Andy, "but you're symptom-free. You ain't contagious no more, and you can't get reinfected, so..." Jane interrupts: "Them that heals under my care stays fuckin' healed!" Brilliant. You know, I've been working in health care communications now for ten years, and for all my (copious and extreme) genius, I could never have come up with a better tagline for the American Medical Association. Doc says he has some clothes for Andy in the back, and when he goes to fetch him, Andy gives Jane a thankful look. "Hereafter in calamity," he says, "I'll be sure to call for Jane." Good one, Andy. Jane asks if he's going to stay around camp now that he's well, and he says he believes he will. "Good, 'cause I want to monitor your activities," Jane jokes, "and find out what you do that weighs so heavy on your fuckin' conscience. When I first come on you in the woods, alls you could say was 'I apologize.'" Doc returns, giving Andy the clothes and telling him that he's on his own for alterations, since they are not going to fit. "Before you exhibit your johnson," Jane says, "I'm gonna see to this fella." She wishes him good luck, and he returns the sentiment, with feeling. He and Doc both look at her, impressed, as she goes back to Joey, who continues to suffer. Like a veritable angel of mercy, she cringes, telling him that she's "gonna lay this cloth on his fuckin' lips." At the hotel, Trixie is attending to the little squarehead girl as Mrs. Garret prepares for her husband's funeral. Out the window, Trixie sees that Sol has pulled up in his wagon to take them to the graveside. Mrs. G says that Sol has been very attentive lately, to Trixie. She can't even respond to this, though, as she has to look out again across to the Gem balcony where Al watches all. "When we leave the hotel," she says, "my boss will be watching." Mrs. G practically snorts. "Shall I reel and stagger?" she asks, before correcting herself almost immediately. "I know the risk lying to him has put you to," she says, sincerely apologetic. "I can't imagine why I'd make it the subject of humor." Trixie smiles, in her way. "You're feeling better," she shrugs. And it's true. Mrs. Garret is clearly feeling better and, may I say, looking pretty damn fly in her funereal duds, all black silk and black lace. Where'd she get it, is what I want to know. Ain't no Nordstrom Rack on the corner of Mud Street and Horseshit Boulevard out there in the thoroughfare. A knock at the door reveals Sol, who Mrs. G invites inside to wait, wink-wink, with Trixie. Interesting time to be playing yenta, Mrs. G.
From the window of his office, Al sees the little party board the wagon. "That widow ain't high," he tells E.B., who has apparently been called over for a meeting. "Maybe waiting 'til after the service," E.B. suggests, but this earns an immediate rebuff from Al, who says surely the widow would want to get loaded before the service "against all the fucking carryin' on." E.B. very casually, to Al's consternation, says that makes sense. Al's pissed. He thinks E.B. and Trixie are in league to lie to him about the widow taking the dope. "I checked in on the woman daily," E.B. says, a little tersely for his own good. "If I was fooled, perhaps I've chosen simple-mindedness, Al, over realizing a certain friend has used me as an instrument of purposes he concealed." I guess E.B. hasn't been watching this show because, damn, haven't we all already learned that Al doesn't take kindly to passive-aggressive, wheedling, mealy-mouth bullshit? "Say what you're gonna say," he says, "or prepare for eternal fucking silence." E.B. continues. "I don't believe you commissioned me to make an offer on the widows claim to keep the regulators off you, Al," he huffs. "I think someone found something out there you want." Al is taken aback only for a split second. "Assume you ain't been privy to the ins and outs of that matter for the sake of fucking conversation," he says. "I mean, was I asleep, E.B., when you and me declared undying loyalty and full-faith mutual disclosure about every fucking detail of every fucking move we were ever going to fucking make together?" Hey...this just occurred to me. Do y'all think Dick Cheney watches Deadwood? Because, is it just me, or does he ascribe rather closely to Al's whole communications philosophy? In any case, E.B. sighs, saying he's still hurt at being left in the dark. "You fucked up the game is the central fucking present issue," Al yells. He says they agreed on a payment of two thousand for E.B. if he pulled off the job, and asks if E.B. wants a percentage now, instead. "Is that such an inconceivable proposition?" E.B. asks, and Al sighs, saying fine. He offers him two percent after the first million, and half a percent after. E.B. is thrilled. "You wanna feel a damp palm, Al?" he asks, as I gag. "Select either of these hands!" Al blanches and gives him the brush off, reminding him to get Mrs. G's claim even if it means going to twenty thousand. Flora, the young girl with the photograph of her father, is over at the Bella Union, telling her story to Cy. He uses his smarm to the fullest extent of the law to lure her into his web of sin. Eddie does not recognize the picture, either, and when Joanie walks up (wearing that gorgeous blue-green velvet dress), Cy turns up the heat. He asks what Flora is going to do while Miles works at the Gem. She says she's trying to find something, also. She says she cooks, cleans, and sews, casting a knowing and sort of worried glance at Joanie. "Ah," Cy says. "How quick do you learn?" He ain't talking about sewing, either. Flora, understanding, says she learns pretty quick, and Cy sends her off with Joanie.
At the graveyard, Reverend Smith is putting his best effort toward Mr. Garret's funeral. Sol stands by with the widow, while E.B. lingers, spider-like, a few feet away. Over by some flowering bushes, Trixie stands over the little girl, who is playing. The girl takes four flowers and lays them side by side. "Ingrid...Marta..." she says, counting them out. "Mama...Papa." It's very sweet, and as Trixie smiles at her, the Rev calls for the great Lutheran hymn, "A Mighty Fortress." Oh, it is a great one, too. I am sort of a hymn nerd -- I freely admit it; I even collect hymnals -- but this one is particularly awesome (come on, it has the word "bulwark" in it!) and is used to perfect effect here. As the group begins singing, E.B. glances over his shoulder to see Bullock and Charlie riding back into town. He freaks and has to make his move. "My sympathies, madam," he says, greasily. "But my own requirements force me to ignore what's seemly." Mrs. G looks at him like something that just oozed from the rocks, and when he offers her $19,500 for the claim, and the singers reach the verse about our ancient foe seeking to work us woe, she tells him to go away. Behind them, Bullock dismounts and looks at Charlie, who has caught a glimpse of Hickok's fresh grave. He can't take it, and says he thinks he'll wait a while to "see Bill."
Bullock walks up to join Mrs. Garret just as they hit this phrase: "Did we in our own strength confide / Our striving would be losing / Were not the right Man on our side / The Man of God's own choosing." Sure, it's an anvil. Hell, it's a Biblical anvil, but...isn't it pretty? That's why I love this show.
Al is counting his money back at the Gem when Dan comes over, saying he hopes Al hasn't given up on the girl, Flora. "Oh, do you worry for her, Dan?" Al asks. "Wandering the muck of our thoroughfare, her tiny self all but swallowed up in horseshit?" Dan makes a confused face, but Al calls out to the girl's brother, asking him to come over. "Stand with us here a second," Al says. The kid asks what they're doing. "Waiting," Al answers. Miles follows Al's eyes to a partition over in the corner of the room. A man emerges, wiping his mouth. "And out the door he'll go," Al says, "and prompt as a Swiss fuckin' timepiece, three big-tittied whores will now emerge from behind that screen." Al is quite correct, of course, and the women do indeed emerge. Conspiratorially, he leans and whispers to Miles. "He lines 'em up at two-foot intervals," Al explains, "smock tops down, and all but sprints past 'em, giving their titties a lick. And if he misses a titty, does not let himself retrace his steps." Miles is amazed. Al says it's just something you have to know about specialists. "They pay a premium," he says, "and they never cause fuckin' trouble." As a matter of fact, Al says, he sometimes thinks of going back to Manchester to open a joint catering only to specialists. "And to let them know they're amongst their own," he says, "maybe I'll operate from the corner, hanging upside down like a fuckin' bat." Miles is enthralled, of course, but this, uh, grandfatherly chat, is certainly not without purpose. "We're not such bad sorts here, huh Miles?" Al asks. Miles says no, certainly not. "So," Al says, getting to the point. "Do you want to ask your sister if she'd like to reconsider?" Miles gives a nervous laugh: "You don't really mean that, Mr. Swearengen..." Al makes a big show, saying of course he doesn't, and goes to meet with E.B. who has just oiled in. "Complications have ensued," E.B. reports. "Bullock's come back." Al can't stand it. He tells E.B. to tell Trixie to come see him. "I trust this doesn't alter our agreement," E.B. says. Al gives him both eyebrows at full barrel. "I trust you know," he says, right in time for tax season, "two percent of nothing's fucking nothing."
Mrs. G and Bullock are having breakfast at the Grand Central. He tells her the guy he wanted to get from Montana is not going to be able to come and assay her claim; he says he'll find someone local to do it and keep an eye on the project. Mrs. G, who is awfully bubbly right after putting her husband in the ground, says she feels she should absolve Bullock from all this, seeing as how she feels capable of handling it herself, now. Bullock prefers, he tells her, to see it through, but she rambles on. "I certainly realize that you and Mr. Star," she says, "have responsibilities of your own." Bullock pauses: "Are you firing me, Mrs. Garret?" She says she is trying offer him absolution. "Otherwise," Bullock answers, "I'm staying on." So noble, so clenched. He asks how things have been going with Al and the Gang since he left, and she launches into this absolutely girlish, gleeful tale about how they tried to get her hooked back on the dope to trick her out of the claim. She catches his somewhat astonished look and calms down. "Uh, more appropriately," she says, "I could add, at the graveyard, Mr. Farnum raised his offer. And set a 24-hour limit to my reply." Bullock says they seem to be coming at her pretty hard for the claim. She apologizes for being so excitable. "Please forgive me, Mr. Bullock," she says. "I had better manners before I began to abstain." Bullock says that's all right, and they make some small talk about the smallpox and lining up an assayer for the claim. She thanks him, and he clenches out a smile. "You are changed," he says of her new outlook. She looks back at him for a moment: "You seem to be, too."
At the hardware store, Sol's doing his best to flirt with Trixie, who is there with the little girl. "Our stock's depleted," he says, "but we are offering a one hundred percent discount on any item that catches your eye." Trixie says she has money, but he goes on, saying it's just the "special get-acquainted-with-those-we'd-like-to-get-acquainted-with sale." Charlie arrives with a shoulder load of pickaxes for Sol to sell, saying he also has some sifters out on his horse. "Mighty grateful, sir," Sol says, nodding and grateful for more than the axes. Charlie is impressed with the building and, looking around, sees Trixie for the first time. He tips his hat to her and the little girl. "As much as she favors you," he says, "she could be yours." Trixie smiles and walks away, and Charlie tells Sol he lost the receipts for his costs on the supplies he brought. "Maybe," Sol says, "while you were busy saving my partner's life." Charlie is embarrassed by his gratitude and goes out to get the sifters. Stepping out to help him, Sol calls back to Trixie over his shoulder, jokingly telling her to have a go at making the accounts add up.Outside, he thanks Charlie again for helping his friend. Charlie says it's all right. "I'm sorry you lost [your friend]," Sol says, and Charlie repeats his gruff "all right," thanking him. Dayton Callie. My word, he is amazing. The man should be loaded down with awards. Of course, so should this whole cast -- they're all great -- but no one can bring a tear to my eye like that man. E.B. slithers up now, on his way to the store, and pauses to tell Charlie that he might still have a room for him at the hotel. He continues on, trying to look around Sol's shoulder to get a look at Trixie, inside. "She's to see her longer-term employer," he says. Sol says he'll pass that on, but E.B. is an ass, and has to prove it. "Do you know who that is?" he asks Sol, who gives him a withering look. "I know she works at the Gem," he responds, evenly. E.B. scoffs. "And even so," he says, "[you] admit her to your trade at public hours. Congratulations, sir, on your advanced thinking." Ugh. Sol's too good to punch him, but I sure wish he would. Nobody ever punches E.B., which I cannot figure out, at all. If ever a man needed a swift one to the nuts... Anyway, he yells now over Sols shoulder: "Al wants you, Trixie!" and toadies away.
Back at the Bella Union, Joanie and Flora are having some girl talk. Flora is no fool, she says, she knows her dad is not in camp, even if Miles won't admit it. She shakes her head, saying that her dad probably never tried to get there. Joanie comforts her, saying he might have tried, that something could have happened to him on the way. "There's so many ways it could be, Flora," she says. "It's not much point deciding which it was." Flora says Miles would never see it that way, but Joanie says maybe that's just the way Miles needs to deal with it. Abruptly, Flora sighs and makes an announcement: "I ain't a virgin. If you want to know that. I had a boyfriend in Buffalo." Joanie takes this news with a nod, asking if it made Flora sad to leave her boyfriend. "I was upset," the brilliant Kristen Bell says, with tears in her eyes. "At the same time, he was a stupid son of a bitch. And rough." On this last, the tears finally flow, and Joanie reaches for her handkerchief, passing it to the girl. Flora pulls herself together and makes Joanie swear not to tell Miles about the boyfriend. "He'd make it back to Buffalo and shoot Lewis in the head," she says. Joanie looks wry: "All that way in defense of your virtue?" Flora laughs. "That's more trouble," she says, "than I ever took with it."
Downstairs, the Bella Union has another visitor. Andy Cramed strolls in with a look of determination. Eddie, with his boss behind the cashier's cage, nudges Cy into awareness. Cy is taken aback, but tries to smoothly greet Andy, as if he didn't recently dump him in the woods like a sack of trash. "Lazarus risen," Cy says, all smiles. "Look at you, you son of a gun!" Nice try, Cy, but Andy ain't going for it. He tells Eddie not to be afraid to shake hands, as he is no longer contagious, and tells Cy he's only come back for his belongings. Cy hems and haws -- the belongings were destroyed, he says. "Measures to stop the spread." He pulls out a wad of cash saying they should "get something going," and that he'll front Andy whatever he needs. "We ain't getting' nothing goin'," he continues, as Joanie walks up. "All I come back for, Cy, was my things, and you tossed them, too."
Like a true sociopath, Cy is offended that Andy is offended that Cy...dumped him in the woods like a sack of trash and left him for dead. He waves the money at Andy again, telling him to take it to buy new clothes and whatever. "And once you've cooled off a little," he says, "think how you'd have done different if somebody showed up in the shape you was in and my responsibilities to meet." Andy says he figures he'd have done better than to throw someone in the woods to fuckin' die. Cy is offended, anew. Fine, then. He tells Andy to not think about anything, in that case, and to take the money to get a whore and some drugs "and go join the fuckin' circus." Andy says no more as Cy shoves the money in his shirt, merely looking at Eddie with a smirk and walking away. Cy doesn't miss a beat, looking over to Joanie. "Did you turn her out?" he asks about Flora. Joanie nods, but says that Flora's brother might be a problem. "Fuck her brother," Cy says, super-evil. "We'll handle the brother, if we have to kill the cocksucker." Glancing up to where the girl is waiting, he raises his eyebrows at Joanie. "That's an interesting piece of strange," he says with significance, and walks away, leaving Joanie and Eddie to shudder as if they had just been in conference with the devil.
Speaking of whores and devils, Trixie has arrived at Al's bidding to his office at the Gem. "Ain't you a picture?" he says, noting her conservative outfit. "What is it?" Trixie quietly responds, and I have to wonder again where in the world Trixie gets her nerve talking to Al like she does sometimes. They are a great match. "Oh, am I detaining you in some way?" he asks, in amazement. "Am I fucking imposing?!" She says merely that Mrs. Garret is about to sit down to meet with Bullock, and Al will surely want her over there. Yeah, yeah, Al says, but he wonders if Mrs. G will have her wits about her, or be on the dope like Trixie has told him she is. She asks him what he's so pissed about. "I ain't pissed off," he insists. "I'm in fucking wonderment! I'm waiting to be kept happy by the fuckin' fairy tale." Trixie lowers her head now, knowing the jig is up. "Do you want me back at the hotel?" she asks. "Or do you want to do something to me?" Al, despite what he says, is quite pissed. He puts the grab on her where, uh, nobody likes to be grabbed. "Now why would I want you to go back there, huh?" he asks as she cringes in pain. "Or rely on anything you said transpired after you lied about her taking the dope." Trixie looks him right in the eye. She says Mrs. G being high wasn't going to have any effect on whether or not she sold E.B. the claim. She says Mrs. G wanted to get off the dope, and the kid needed someone to care for her and maybe get her the hell out of Deadwood. "So you want me back over there to tell you what they fuckin' decide?" she asks, as Al stares her down with something like a mixture of respect and confused wariness in his eyes. "Or do you want to rip my fuckin' guts out?" For a minute, it's clear that Al genuinely cannot decide what to do. He releases her, breathing heavy, and tells her to get back to the hotel quick. I guess she's surprised to be alive after such an encounter, because she stands there for a second, wondering if the other shoe is going to drop (on her neck) before walking out to the door. "Don't kid yourself, Trixie," Al says, reminding her of her place before she can leave. "Don't get a mistaken idea." Charlie walks into Nuttall's with a determined look. He sees ol' Tom behind the bar. "This is where Bill got killed, huh?" he asks him. Tom's face falls. He takes off his hat. "I'll be sorry about that," he says, "for as long as I live." Charlie asks him to tell him what went down. Nuttall recaps the whole sequence of events much more succinctly than I did. "In come that coward McCall," he says, regretfully. "Walked up on him, and shot him in the head." Charlie looks back at the saloon door like he's trying to imagine it. "Bill never know when he come in," he says. Nuttall shakes his head. He says that no one realized what was happening, and that McCall just murdered Bill right where he sat. Charlie is dealing with all this as best he can when the jabbering dumbass who was playing cards with Bill the night of his death comes rolling up. He recaps the death scene AGAIN, and not sweetly like Nuttall just did, but as if he's calling it on NFL Tonight. "Now I'm told he fell dead immediately," the goon says, not noticing somehow that all of this is nauseating Charlie," but I won't testify to it. Because the bullet, after passing through Wild Bill's brain, struck me in my right wrist, and I lost several seconds to pain before regaining my senses." Nuttall rolls his eyes so hard they almost come out -- the patrons of this bar have heard this guy tell this story a few hundred times. The guy dramatically strides over to Charlie and shows him the wound in his wrist. "I will take the murderer's bullet to my grave," he says, his hand on his chest, Napoleon-style. Charlie has no response except to stare at the oblivious dude like the idiot he is. Putting his hat back on, he thanks Nuttall and leaves, while the dumbass turns back to the poker table and starts the story all over again.
In her room at the Bella Union, Joanie is fixing Flora up for a day of trade. She asks if the girl likes the way she's done her hair. Flora is ambivalent. "Sure," she shrugs. "Why not?" Joanie take her chin and turns her face to meet her eyes. "I prefer you happy, honey," she says. "But if you can't be, you need to pretend at it better than you're doing, or you're going to be hungry and cold and getting done to you outside, what you'd have made money to live on and save up besides, if you acted the part in here." Flora shrugs again. "I thought I only had to act it," she says, "with them that wanna stick it in me." Joanie sighs. "You never know who that might be, Flora," she says. Aw. Joanie's got a little thing for the new girl. The bad part is, Flora knows it, as is evidenced by her wicked little smile. They turn back to the mirror. "I prefer you happy," Flora says, seeing Joanie's shame and downturned face. Joanie looks up: "Or at least pretending better?"
At the sick tent, Jane is sad as she sits beside Joey. "I think he's dead, Doc," she sighs. Doc checks him, and asks Jane to tell the sled bearers not to make such a fuss taking him out. Jane nods, resigned, as the Rev returns. "Has young Joey gone to dust?" he asks, and Doc says yes. The Rev looks at him for a second, sad, before telling Doc that Bullock is back in town with Charlie. Jane blanches. "Does Charlie know about Bill?" she asks. The Rev excitedly says that the two of them captured Jack McCall. "I hope," Jane cheers, "that's only the beginning of what they fuckin' did to him!" Rev. Smith reports that they gave McCall over to Yankton. Jane: "Gave him over?!" Smith: "Rendered unto Caesar." Jane: "JESUS CHRIST!" Brilliant. Jane is disappointed they didn't kill McCall, but the Rev goes on -- he's getting the tremors, now -- saying how Bullock had been struck by an Indian's axe. "Marked like the firstborn of Adam and Eve," he says, all crazily, causing Jane to give him a look. "Are you drunk?" she asks. "No," the Rev says, and Doc moves to him right as the seizure overtakes the sweet Rev. Jane is alarmed, but Doc grips him as the he comes out of it, rambling about Christ marking us sinful and forgiven by confession.
"All right," Doc says, a few times, as the Rev goes on, saying that God has told him all this in their frequent communications. "All right. You listen to me now, Reverend," Doc says. "You are goddamn exhausted and you give yourself no respite." He says it wouldn't surprise him if the Rev had a brain lesion that was causing all this, "and generating your chats with the goddamn divinity. No goddamn offense intended." Jane looks worried and on the verge of tears as she watches all this. "Go on, Reverend," she says. "Doc's tired, too -- only reason he's talkin' so fuckin' harsh." The poor, crazy Rev asks if maybe, just maybe, the lesion was perhaps placed in his head by God, so that they could talk to each other. "Well, of course it could," Doc says, "his ways not being ours and so forth. But could he not, Reverend, just want you getting out of here and getting yourself some goddamned rest?" Jane is openly crying now, as the Rev nods and goes to leave. It's too sad, really, and she looks at Doc and sighs heavily.
Flora is making her way back across the thoroughfare, followed by her newest fan, Terrence. Apparently, they have recently made the sweet, sweet for-hire love one can only find in Deadwood. She tells him to stop following her, that she's got to go meet up with her brother who takes a hard line about the whoring thing, and if he wants to "stick it in" her the day, he'll do like she asks. He says he'd pay the same price just to sit with her a while, but she shoos him on, saying she'll be "receiving" the day at noon. He gives her a dollar, just because, and tells her she's swell. She smirks, pocketing it, and goes into the Gem with her innocent face squarely in place. Dan bumbles over, all nerves, and asks if she had any luck finding her father. She says no, and he goes to find her a place to sit "away from these rough sumbitches" and says he'll bring her a soft cider. The murdering henchman is genuinely smiling like a teenage boy who just met Britney Spears as he heads to the bar. The drunk from earlier in the day is still there, drinking, and loudly asks if the girl found her dad. Dan leans in close and fast. "Her chances of finding her dad are greater than yours of walking out of this door upright," he says, "unless you shut your fucking mouth." He stomps off, leaving the boozehound to attempt to figure out the over/under on all these contingencies.
At the hardware store, Sol is giving Bullock an update on what's been going on since he rode out. He tells how Al has been financing a lot of the smallpox recovery program. "Is that so?" Bullock asks. Sol, equally surprised, says yes. "The dead don't drink or chase women," he laughs, "must be his thinking on that subject." Bullock ain't in a laughing mood, really. He breaks down a little. "That Indian fought like hell," he says abruptly changing the subject. Sol pauses, looking at his friend's wounded face. "I guess you did, too," he says, all quiet. Bullock goes on, explaining how Charlie figured out about the burial ground and the counting coup system and all that. Sol is wide-eyed and blinking as Bullock goes through the whole fight and all the reasons it had been fought. "We fought like fuckin' hell," Bullock says, kind of crying, "and I never once had the upper hand. It just happened out the way it happened out." Bullock is really sad. He said the Indian was just trying to live, just like he was, and trying to do honor to his friend, just like he was doing for Bill. "And we wind up that way," he says, "and I wind up, after, beatin' him until I couldn't recognize his face. For Christ's sake." I gotta hand it to ol' Clench, here. He's brilliant in this scene. "That Indian..." he tells Sol, "saved Jack McCall's life, I'll tell you that much." Sol looks smugly satisfied. "Not for long," he says. Bullock moves on to Mrs. G's claim now. He's upset his Montana friend can't come assay it. "I want his recommendation," he says, back in full clench. Sol's not clear, and asks whose rec he's looking for. "Swearengen's," Bullock says, striding to the door like Eastwood on his worst day. "Shit, Seth," Sol reacts. "Get his opinion, too, on that henhouse we're gonna build." I have to go with Sol on this one. Even when I hear it explained later, I don't like this whole contrivance of getting Al's recommendation.It is night at the Gem now, and the joint is jumping. Miles comes to check on Flora, asking if she's okay. "Yes," she says. He says he is as well. "They're nice here," he says, "and Mr. Swearengen, he's funny as all get out!" Miles looks around a little before leaning in closer. "So," he asks, "what place would make a better score?" Snap! These young innocents are grifters, coming to Deadwood to rip off saloons. I...can't imagine they did enough research on their marks, because I believe this camp would be the last place I looked for easy money. Surely they missed the whole part of the Deadwood website explaining about Wu's pigs. Flora says the Bella Union would bring a better result, "but why not take them both?" Great idea, Flora. Pit yourself in a battle between Satan and Satan-er.
Al's over at the bar eating some pears when Bullock comes in asking for a private talk. "Should I be armed?" he jokes to Bullock, waving his pear fork, and they go upstairs. "What do you think of that?" Johnny, looking on, asks Dan. But Dan has missed the whole exchange -- he only has eyes for Flora. "I think," he responds, looking hard at his least favorite drunk of the night, "that son of a bitch better stop looking evil at that little girl." Ew, and he is looking evil at her, too, all leery and boozed.
Upstairs, Al offers Bullock some whiskey. "So," he asks, looking at Bullock's wounded face. "Was it McCall who improved your appearance?" Heee. Bullock says no, and Al says that whatever the case, it's good to have him back. "Me being superstitious," he says, "and all hell breaking loose when you left." Bullock is not really in the mood for such pleasantries. He says he's come to talk about Mrs. Garret, and seeing Al's questioning eyebrows, explains that the man he wrote to assay her claim cannot come to Deadwood to do it. "Plenty of local alternatives," Al says. This is what Bullock came to talk about. "I want you to nominate someone," he tells Al, who is surprised anew. "So if any way his work was mistaken," Bullock explains, "I'd be coming after you." See? That's dumb, right? Also, why would Al put up with such drama queen bullshit from Clench? "Since I got nothing to do with the fucking venture," Al says, "what if I decline to make the fucking recommendation?" No matter how many times Ian McShane says the word "fucking," per scene, it is never too much. Somehow, he pulls it off with such nuance; it's like an art form. No one else can manage it as well. Bullock says in that case, Al had better hope whoever they get to do the assay does a good job, because Bullock would still come after him. "I ain't involved," Al says, ripping the whiskey off the table and back into the drawer. He says E.B.'s the one who offered on the claim. "Farnum's your water boy," Bullock says, flatly. "And I know what you've been trying to do to her." Al is nonplussed. He tries to get a handle on Bullock threatening him with a dire result should the widow's property turn out to be...not worthless. I'm with him -- it makes no sense. "She gets a square shake," Bullock says, "or I come for you." I mean, what is Bullock thinking? His fight with the Indian must have knocked something loose, because clenching around, threatening the hills' biggest bad-ass with circuitous, circumstantial reasoning is a great way to get shanked. Al puts it to him in plain words. "What if I come for you?" he asks. "Are you ready for that?" Bullock says he guesses he'd better be. "Then close your fucking store," Al says. "Because being ready for me will take care of your waking hours, and you better have someone to hand the task off to when you close your fuckin' eyes." Bullock clenches and says they understand each other (which is more than I can say about this scene), and before Al can knock his head off, there is a disturbance from below.Johnny yells urgently for Al, who rushes to the landing to see Dan and the evil-looker locked in a struggle. He rolls his eyes, goes back in the office to shoo Bullock out, and does not even make it down the stairs before Dan has the drunk up against the post, telling him to take one last look at Flora, because she's the last thing the guy will ever see. Al yells for Dan to let the guy down. Dan is reluctant, but finally does after, you know, pulling his knife out of the guy's gut. He falls, dead. "Or should I," Al says, turning to the wide-eyed Bullock, "have had him hold him up?" Blood on his face, Dan turns to Flora, apologizing that she had to see that bit of carnage, while Bullock and Al get into a game of Last Word. Bullock: "You heard what I said." Al: "Oh, yes, Your Holiness. You heard me, too." Flora is still in shock when Al yells at Miles to get her the fuck away from the Gem. "I warned him not to look at her," Dan tells Al, shaking. "I warned him." Al stands in true wonderment now, ruminating on the effects that women can have over even the bad-assest of men.
At the graveyard, Jane is talking to Bill, telling him about her day. She is proud of taking care of Andy until he became well. She suddenly feels another presence and pulls her gun on Charlie, who is walking up behind her. "Jesus Christ," she says, holstering her pistol, "come upon a person unawares in a fucking graveyard!" Charlie walks closer to the headstone, not knowing what to do, exactly. He is sad, sad about Bill, and it breaks my heart in two. Jane talks nice to him for once, saying she heard about him and Bullock catching McCall. Charlie doesn't want to talk about that now, however. "Was Bill dead by the time you saw him?" he asks, and Jane says yeah, he was. "Why did he let that son of a bitch get to him?" Charlie wonders. Jane says she doesn't know, but that it makes her feel better to come up and tell Bill the news of the day. This a gorgeous scene. Charlie backs down to where she is standing, and tells her to go ahead with her news. They take their hats back off, and Jane starts again. "Charlie avenged your fuckin' murder," she says, gesturing to Charlie. "And that Bullock fella was with me that you seemed to like," Charlie goes on, before being interrupted by Jane, who says she doesn't understand why they didn't kill McCall when they had a chance. "Is that something we need to get into in front of him?" Charlie asks, through his teeth, and Jane says fine, Charlie should tell the story. In fact he should tell Bill whatever he wants. So he does. He tells him about the mail route to Cheyenne they had been discussing, and about coming on Bullock after his fight with the Indian. "He run into some heathen boy," he says, "and he had one hell of a fight. Boy, and he just...he got...fuck..." He chokes up and can go no further. Jane puts a hand on his shoulder. "Can I..." Charlie chokes out. "Can I tell him some more tomorrow?" Jane says she doesn't make the damn rules, so that's fine with her, and she picks up the lantern and they head back to the camp.Back at the hotel, Trixie is putting the little girl to bed while Mrs. G absolutely swans around the room, rattling on about Bullock like some kind of 13-year-old girl at a slumber party. Finally, Trixie can take no more, and says she has to go back to the Gem. She says Al's waiting for her now to come and tell him Bullock's and Mrs. G's decision about the claim. "And I won't be able to lie anymore," she says. "I tell will be my last. So I better just get back there." Mrs. G is amazed that Al has apparently discovered the whole deception; she says she had taken great pains to make sure Al wasn't watching when she, obviously not doped up, left the hotel earlier. Trixie says that doesn't matter. The point is, she has to go back, and Mrs. G will need someone to look after the girl. "And with choices bigger elsewhere," she says, "and nothing I can tell to hold you here, maybe you better think about selling and getting out." Mrs. G has a brainwave. "Would you want to take the girl and go?" she asks. Trixie cannot believe this ridiculous question. She has no money, she says, and no people, anywhere, and when Mrs. G suggests that she can send her to New York and have her established, she puts down the hammer. "What the fuck?" she whispers, incredulous, to Mrs. G. "What would keep you here? You wanna fuck this man? Fuck him. Then think about the child." Mrs. G tells her not to use that language or that tone with her, and Trixie keeps swinging. "Don't you want to say to remember my place?" she grits. "I do, you rich c*nt. And I'm going back to it." With this, she turns away, saying the little girl is probably close to saying her name. "She named her sisters, her folks," she says. "Think of selling. If you took her away, you could hear her say it."