Hearst's hired goons are making themselves comfortable in town, which in Deadwood means that they're alternately antagonizing Morgan Earp in the thoroughfare, beating the shit out of Merrick, and getting hauled to jail by their ears in the style Bullock had previously reserved for their employer. Wu has returned to Al with news of reinforcements stashed away in Custer City. But with the Wu/Swedgin lines of communication unusually muddled, it's Johnny who figures this all out. It's also Johnny who gets a frustrated slap from Al for his trouble. Aw.
Hearst gets a telegram that Odell has been killed, causing Aunt Lou to lose it, not unreasonably, and she ends up sobbing on the shoulder of her new BFF Richardson. With his back still paining him and his cook quietly cursing his name, Hearst takes a meeting with Jarry, who is back from Yankton with a message from the governor that the resources are in place to fix the Deadwood elections.
Langrishe's troupe gets to the business of entrenching themselves in the camp by first making a big ol' deposit at Alma's bank, and second by organizing a camp-wide talent show, the unquestioned highlight of which ends up being Richardson's mad juggling skillz. The troupe has also settled in the old Chez Amie/schoolhouse, meaning it's time to move the school children into their new building. Joanie and Jane are there to help Mr. and Mrs. Bullock escort the young ones across the ever-more-dangerous thoroughfare.
Elsewhere, Trixie and a sober Alma are friends again; the NG wheels Veggie Steve to the talent show but sadly does not employ him in any kind of ventriloquist act; and Al closes the episode with a sad little ditty sung to his empty saloon. Three episodes to go and he still seems at a loss as to what he should do.
Before we begin, I must extend my sincere thanks to Joe R for covering this episode's recaplet as well as a few others this season. I have been having a weird schedule this summer, traveling far more often than in seasons, and he is a mighty fine bastard for backing me up. I believe, also, you'll find he has a knife.
The day dawns pretty early for Morgan and Wyatt Earp. The two brothers get turned out of their respective beds at the Bella Union, receiving reluctant goodbyes from their whores. I guess the girls don't get many cute ones. If I had to mess around with the likes of Con and Leon all day, I'd be sad, too.
At the Bullocks' house, the sheriff talks to Martha. "One-third of six is two," he is saying. "The combination of the safe in the hardware store, which you should commit to memory against eventualities." He's being very serious, but she doesn't seem afraid. "As was threatened by the arrival of those men last night," she says. He confirms this and lists the contents of the safe, again giving her the mnemonic device to remember the combination: "One-third of six is two." She nods. "One-three-ought-six-two," she says, and he says yes, that's it. She smiles a little. "The children and I are moving into the new schoolhouse today," she says. He sits, saying that's good, and when he says he'll walk with her on the move, they both smile.
Speaking of the schoolhouse, Joanie and Mose are there now, checking it out. Apparently, the craftsman who put it up built it around a large tree in the center of the room. Joanie says she wishes they'd found out the whole story of this tree business so that they could tell the children. Mose says they did the best they could in that regard. "Does four desks to a row seem right?" Joanie asks, wringing her hands about the way they've set up the room. Mose can see she's worried and assures her that the desks aren't nailed down. Joanie squints a little and asks about what she's really worried about: "You ain't seen Jane?" Mose shakes his head.
In his rooms at the Grand Central, Hearst is meeting with the new fellas that arrived last night. Or should I say "the bricks"? Ugh. The smug bastard drinks from his saucer as he explains his strategy to the Head Brick. "The camp is to know they're here. The camp is to know they're my employees," he says. "If this knowledge came first from some disruption of traffic in the thoroughfare, I would have no objection...and matters might deteriorate from there." Hate. Why does damn Hearst drink from saucers anyway? I mean, I know people did this, but shut up, history. What is he, some kind of Japanese cat? It's such an affectation and it serves only to increase my loathing of the man tenfold.
Al comes down from his office shouting his traditional greeting of "coffee!" Jewel pours it while Al compliments Davey on his good position by the door where he is keeping watch on the new bricks in town. Except, now we find, these ain't no regular bricks on loan from the brick store. "Copperhead cocksucker Hearst," Dan spits as he leans over the bar, "bringing in the fucking Pinkertons?" Aw, yeah. Al's old nemeses, the Pinkertons! It is ON. "Not much of a horse race, Dan, between the appetite for blood and fidelity to political conviction," Al smirks. Johnny, too, is disgusted by the arrival of Al's worst nightmare. "Fucking Pinkertons!" he swears, and Al leans back to Dan, asking if there are any alternatives to him going to Cheyenne for reinforcements after all. "I knew I should have stayed packed from four days ago," Dan sighs. They don't have time to get into it before Davey interrupts. "Some bullshit's jumping off on the thoroughfare, Mr. Swearengen," he reports, and Al and the fellas rush over where they see assorted bricks on horseback, riding around hassling innocent hooples and drunks as they try to navigate the sludge outside. To my extreme rage, the one they hassle most is Wu! WU! Who is just trying to like, LIVE, for five seconds and walk down the street in his (dirty) great American suit. One of the Pinkertons even calls him "ding-dong" and causes him to fall down, screaming "cocksucker" epithets in every direction while they all laugh at him. Al sees all this and sighs. "Go get fuckin' Wu," he tells Johnny, who rushes off to help him up. Al turns to Adams. "Question extant being...," he says, "'til reinforced, can we learn the ways of church mice?" Johnny assists the raging Chinaman off the ground and Al tells Adams to make a call on Cy.
Back at the hotel, Hearst is back with the Head Brick. "You will not mistake the newspaperman. He looks like a...big turtle." Now, hold on a second. Damn! Has it come to this? Must Merrick endure these personal slights as well? Bad form, Hearsty. "Published a letter meant to embarrass me," Hearst continues. "That I authored his discomfiture should come clear only as events accumulate." You knock Wu over in the street and now you're going to rough up on Merrick? Will no one SHANK this ass?
Adams is at his meeting with Cy. Okay...I don't want to do it, but now's the time I have to make a comment on Adams's current look. Listen, this is painful for me. I believe it's common knowledge that my love for the man and his beard is Magnum-animous in size and portent. So that is why it hurts me so bad to say that...his current styling efforts are out of control. His hair looks like he sat too long under the beauty parlor dryers, and the beard is more Kringle than tingle, you know what I mean? I still love him, though, so don't get upset.
"Here I am, Al's delegate, as far as him and you deal with Mr. Hearst," Adams says, all cocky. Cy rolls his eyes from his seat at the table. "Will you still if invited to sit," he snarks, "or will it take me offering a meal?" Adams says he already ate, and just wants to know if Cy has any message for Al. Cy drones that nothing comes to mind. "Horsemen come to camp by torchlight last night," Adams reminds him. Cy smirks. "Tell Al," he says, "as we didn't wake to the apocalypse, I suppose all we need fear is their Winchesters."
Aunt Lou is serving Hearst's breakfast downstairs when Langrishe arrives. "The pillars of my existence, who should know each other," Hearst shouts, happily waving Langrishe over and introducing him to Aunt Lou. Jack nods appreciatively, complimenting Lou on her cooking. "Mr. Langrishe," Hearst tells her, "is now to my back, Aunt Lou, what you have long been to my belly." Jack inserts his expert medical opinion here on the "nodals" vs. a big gut when dealing with back pain. I will quote it in full, as it is indicative of a larger point to be made about Langrishe's dialogue in this episode. "I may say that so long as the nodals are quiet," he says, "that girth at the midriff, preached a sin by so many among the guardians of sacral well-being, is absolved as a danger by me." Aunt Lou can't diagram that sentence fast enough, as no one could, but suspects he may have just made a crack about her weight. "I've been heavy all my life," she says, blankly, and Langrishe waves his hands in protest that he was not talking at all about her personal girth. As Hearst continues his Hello Kitty act and drinks from his damn saucer, my eyes glaze over and I have to just pause the TiVo and heave a sigh about poor Brian Cox, who must have wanted to kill somebody after this episode was filmed. The language is so beyond flowery, it is nothing short of a danged botanical garden up in here. I will give you the gist: Hearst is congratulating himself for treating Aunt Lou like a human being when they are interrupted by a fight in the doorway. One of the Pinkertons is mixing it up with a hotel patron and ends up stomping the guy and dragging him out. "Did I not see the gentleman who is still upright arrive in the camp last night?" Langrishe asks, all innocence. Hearst smirks. "I believe I may have as well," he says, and asks Jack what Al thought of all the guys riding in the evening. "Do allow me, Mr. Hearst, as your corporal comfort's advocate, in this regard to be neutral," Jack says, as Hearst takes another sip from his stupid saucer. "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." It's likely that Hearst doesn't buy his neutrality, and it just makes me love Langrishe so much that he'd roll into town and immediately put himself in harm's way with the most powerful man around, all for the sake of our beloved Al.
Mrs. Ellsworth strolls down the thoroughfare, looking an absolute vision in her lilac, and runs into Trixie, who is waiting at the front door of the bank. They smile at each other, and Trixie says she's come to put in some money.The NG furiously pushes a wheelbarrow containing the vegetative Steve through the front door of Nuttall's. Harry immediately protests, but the NG insists. "I ain't no goddamn nurse!" he says. "I gotta see to my business in this camp." Harry says Tom has rules that no one can sit around in the No. 10 if they ain't drinking. The NG whips out a pile of money. "He's buying for them that do," he says, slamming it down. "Yeah, uh, and what if he messes hisself?" Harry asks, disgusted. The NG slams down more coins. "For them that wipes him off," he shouts, heading for the door. "I ain't seeing him out! I ain't gonna fucking do it!"
Back at the bank, Trixie and Mrs. E are making up. It's very sweet, you know, as far as Trixie can be sweet. She says she can see that Alma's eyes are clear. "I am better," Mrs. E says. Their reunion is interrupted by the arrival of Langrishe, causing Trixie to hurry her business along. "Anyways," she says. "There's twelve bucks I deposit into my account. If the currency's counterfeit, my fucking Jew boss is the culprit." Hee. Poor, poor Sol. Langrishe insists that she not hasten her transaction on his account, but Trixie just smiles. "I don't need no receipt," she says. "I trust the lady." With Trixie gone, Jack makes his charming introductions to Mrs. Ellsworth. She is very clearly delighted by him. "I'd undertake two transactions," he tells her, sitting down. "Deposit of $4,000 and the borrowing of like amount." Without missing a beat, she notes that those two moves are at cross purposes. "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," he says, blinding me with words before letting us all see that he knows the joke. "Oh," he laughs, picking up his heavy bag of money. "[This is] no less weighty than my verbiage." Yeah, no kidding. Enamored, Alma smiles. "You have your loan, Mr. Langrishe," she says. He stands dramatically, saying it has been a pleasure. "By way of publicity, this evening we conduct an amateur night," he mentions. "I wish to state, unequivocally...I have no gossamer filament of doubt you have skills to delight and amaze." Alma demurs as we all think of the amazing skills with which we once saw her delight the sheriff. Y'all know I mean her boobs, right? Good.
Morgan is complaining about what he considers their forced premature evacuation of the Bella Union that morning as he and Wyatt load their hardware supplies into a wagon. They are disturbed when the Pinkertons rampage by, upsetting boxes and stuff all over the place. "Assholes!" Morgan calls out, but Wyatt cautions him. "Hey," he says, "we've got a timber lease to work."
A very muddy Wu is miserably trying to draw out an important communiqué at the Gem while Johnny looks over his shoulder and Dan crabs from the bar. Tentative, he pushes a sketch over to Johnny, who gives him the thumbs up. Dan cannot contain his inner skeptic. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure them scribblin's as clear as fuckin' rainwater to you, Johnny," he snarks. "He who was stymied by a couple of fucking Xs and a goddamn straight line. Winks, grins, gives Wu the big okay!" "If I recall the drawing you're referring to," Johnny reminds him, "I believe the straight line signifying the bar was first made out by me." He says as far as Wu's pictures, he can't say exactly what's going on in them, but he thinks he gets the drift. For whatever reason, Dan just can't take this. "You best trot upstairs with Johnny, Wu," he says, full of sarcasm. "Show Al your work is finished. But remember, Al, he ain't near as quick as Johnny or fucking Jewel. No, Al might be confused and treat you to a fucking ass-kicking." Wu is frustrated by all this bullshit and cusses everybody in Chinese. Upstairs, Al meets with my bearded paramour (in a camera shot so tight it looks like they are going to start making out) to ask what Cy said about the Pinkertons. Adams reported that Cy said he didn't know anything and that he is inclined to believe him. "Felt like he's outside looking in," Adams says, to which Al nods, at a loss. "We ought to form a fucking club," he says, stepping out onto his balcony. There he spies, I am desperately sorry to report, the hated Commissioner Jarry, whom I had so hoped was dead from many forms of disease and pestilence. "Fucking Yankton's rejoined us for Christ's fucking sake?!" Al says, stepping back inside wide-eyed. Adams moves out to look and locks eyes with stupid Jarry. "Must have finished stealing from the Indians," he says, and watches as Al has a silent "WHAT ?!" moment.
The Earps ride down the thoroughfare in their wagon. Morgan is sullenly relaxed, slouched in his seat, when they pass the same group of Pinkertons that messed with them earlier. "Wipe your ass, Hiram," one of the bastards says. "It feels strange at first, but the shit protects against blisters." First of all...Hiram? Is he making a Jewish slur? If so, why? Secondly, "protects against blisters"? Ew. Weeeeellll, Morgan ain't in the mood for any of that, and in one swift move, he's off the wagon with his hand on his gun. "Will you be here after work?" he asks the brick. "If I am," the guy shoots back, "will you suck my prick?" Morgan grins. "Well, if you ain't," he responds, "and a fella says Hiram's trying to find you, if he don't go on to call you a c*nt, he's cutting the message short." The Pinkerton finds this quite insulting, but looks back to the Head Brick who is observing all this and gets the "do not engage" headshake. Wyatt tells Morgan to come on, but little bro, who I now love because of his Pinkerton hate, is not interested in letting it go so easy. "What, was it him that got you hooked on cocksucking?" he asks the Pinkerton lackey about the Head Brick. He gets another warning from Wyatt. "I'll be here, Hiram," the chickenshit guy says. "Try some shit on them blisters." Morgan has his own piece of advice. "Let him fuck your ass," he suggests to the junior brick about his boss. "He may raise your pay a quarter." Aw, snap. The Earps ride off as the Pinkertons stand there smirking. "See you this afternoon," Morgan says.
The slimeball Jarry enters the hotel, passing Richardson, who appears to be praying over the Doc as he kneels to a wounded patient. Lord knows what has happened to this dude, but he appears to be in considerable pain. Jarry, naturally, doesn't care. "A room, if I may," he demands from E.B., "unexposed to the gales which must blow through that hole above us." E.B. draws himself up and explains that Hearst now owns the hotel and knocked those holes himself. To my surprise, where others might have sycophantically sung the praises of Hearst's hole (not like THAT; what is wrong with y'all tonight?), Jarry remains unimpressed. "Enhancing not at all for me," he says, "the prospect of a room in the hole's proximity." Doc ends their chat about the hole (ew) by asking for a wheelbarrow for his patient.Joanie is outside the Chez Amie speaking with Mrs. Bullock. "I guess you're near ready to take the children over," Joanie says nervously. "Or are you ready now? Do I keep you from it?" Mrs. Bullock must be moved along with the rest of us at Joanie's extreme attachment to the children. They talk about the man who has been working on the new schoolhouse. "Mose says the man was a Norweger from Wisconsin," Joanie tells the teacher. "Built the building around the tree so as to have sap on hand for syrup, which must taste like hell for being oak, but... probably smells nice in a lamp." Martha says that not knowing the whole story of the man and the tree will just give freer rein to the children's imaginations. As if any of them need to imagine anything, considering what goes on around them every day. Martha very sweetly asks if Joanie will be there in an hour to walk with the kids to their new place. Joanie tries to hide her joy at being asked, but really can't, and says she will be there.
The NG is at Alma's window at the bank, where she is helping him make a very loud and public transaction. "I recognize, Mr. Fields," she says very formally, making sure that everyone else in the bank can hear her, "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." The NG wants to make sure one more point is publicly made: "No shadow ought be on Hostetler's reputation that sold to Steve by me now taking leave," he says. Alma poignantly says that no reasonable person could possibly cast one. The poor NG is so torn by all of this. "I got a life to live of my own," he says, and the sympathetic Alma notes that all in the camp share that same burden.
The innocent Merrick is messing around with his equipment (don't say it!) when one of Hearst's guys enters the building. "Jesus Christ," the guy says, pretending to be inebriated, "whoever thought I'd come to write an article?" Merrick asks if by "article" the guy means he has some kind of notice he wishes to put in the paper. Yes, perhaps he has typed up something along the lines of "A Brick's Guide to Beating Your Ass." WAKE UP, Merrick. The dude starts in on Merrick, calling him fat which, you know, is unnecessary, and Merrick politely suggests they continue their conversation at a time when the brick is less drunk. "Something stupid-looking about you... " the brick says, and this Merrick cannot stand. Call him fat, call him a turtle, whatever, but stupid? He insists the man leave. "Fucking irritating!" the dude rants. "How you look makes me fucking embarrassed!" With that, he whips his cane across Merrick's face, knocking him to the ground and causing Blazanov to jump to his feet. "Oh, dear," Merrick groans, which just pushes the brick to further violence. "'Oh, dear'?!" he yells, punching the newspaperman repeatedly. Throwing Merrick back to the floor, he smirks to Blazy to come help his friend, and leaves the two nice guys to pull themselves together. Oooo! These fucking Pinkertons, man. No wonder Al hates them.
Speaking of Al, he is back at the Gem trying to figure out whatever it is that Wu is attempting to communicate. It isn't going well. Wu asks, in his way, if Swedgin and Hearst are "heng dai." Al can't take it. "We're the opposite of fucking heng dai!" Al says, holding two fingers apart to indicate just how non-friendly he and Hearst truly are. "We're bok gwai lo, the two of us!" Wu is thrown -- Al just called himself and Hearst white devils, which he can't argue with, of course. "Fuck bok gwai lo!" Al says, seeing his confusion. "We're not fucking heng dai! We're the opposite of fucking heng dai. Now make your fucking point." Wu gets it, finally, and tries to show Al what he's drawn on his paper. "One hundred fifty Chung-kuo cocksucka. Custer!" Al is beyond frustrated. "[Custer is] dead, for Christ's sake, Wu!" he yells. "Hey, how about the canoe? Did you know that had been fucking invented yet, huh?" Why Wu doesn't just move out of Deadwood, I don't know. I mean, he gets kicked in the mud and now this? He cut off his braid for you, Al! You know he's going to go home and rip up his Swedgin! t-shirt, at the very least. He tries again with the drawings, speaking slowly, as if that would help. "Custer, Chung-kuo cocksucka, one hundred fifty, Custer!" Al gets a look like he's contemplating ending it all until Johnny sidles up and figures the shit right out. "Custer City?" he asks, bridging the cultural gap and causing Wu to nearly do a happy dance. Johnny explains it very slowly to Al. "Wu's holding his men outside Custer City," he says, "'cause you and Hearst are on the outs." He caps this stroke of genius by looking happily up to Al, nodding as if they were all in this translation game together. He ain't smiling for long. Al relieves his personal tension with a swift one across Johnny's face. Dan smirks. Maybe Johnny's britches are still a bit loose after all. "Clever precautionary fucking thinking, Wu," Al says and, sighing and trying to keep his eyes from rolling out of their sockets, takes a huge swig.
Joanie arrives at the freight house, to the great delight of Charlie, who is doing bidness with Langrishe. "The blessed Miss Stubbs," the grateful Langrishe says of the woman who sold him his new playhouse, "whose bust is so very prominent in the mind's pantheon of the camp." Joanie shrugs a little. "Some not 50 yards from us will put these of mine to shame," she says, but instantly regrets her little hooker joke, knowing these are nice men. Langrishe pauses to let it pass and floridly bids them farewell. "If you can cartwheel or puff your cheeks like a fish," he says to her quietly, "we have a festivity tonight. I'll live in hope you'll attend." Of course they miss the opportunity for Joanie to make another joke about having once been paid handsomely to perform those acts in private, but I'm kind of glad they skip it, just this once, because of the kind way Langrishe has when he asks her to attend the entertainment. Smiling, Charlie watches the actor go. "There is a strange fucking bird," Charlie says, and tells her about the amateur night the troupe is planning as a prelude to its regular season. "Fuckin' Jane ought to break out her bullwhip."
The wretched Jarry meets over drinks with my man Adams at the Gem. They shoot the breeze about governmental goings-on. "Doing any good for yourself?" Adams asks. Jarry reports that things have been tough in Yankton, as he should know. Adams: "From what I read on the crapper." Heeee. They talk about the tribal distributions the Dakota territorial government was responsible for giving out, and Jarry all but congratulates himself for his embezzlement of some of the funds. Adams barely bothers to raise his eyebrows, but even I can see under that beard that he is not impressed. All the Indian stuff is not what Jarry came to discuss, anyway. "Your star here is in ascension?" he asks Adams, who says he's been keeping busy. "Tell me how," Jarry says, greedily. "Don't delete a single detail." Adams scoffs. "That's a pretty taut line, Mr. Jarry," he says, "not knowing how deep your hook's set yet." Shit, I have no idea what they're talking about. I mean, I get it that Jarry is trying to bribe Adams for info, but I am not sure...why. I believe it's to find out where Al stands in the whole election/Hearst thing, but hell, I mean, I figured out all that Yankton mess from past seasons, so it's a little worrisome that I can't decipher the deeper meaning. Jarry offers Adams $500, but says he'd rather not produce it in the Gem. "Worse gets produced here pretty regular," Adams assures him, nodding over Jarry's shoulder, where the humongous bosom of one of the Gem girls looms before our very eyes like Mt. Kilimanjaro. Jarry whips out his wallet. "Much has been answered already," he says. "Little has fucking changed."
Al is upstairs pacing in his rooms while Merrick recuperates on the bed under Doc's care, and the miserable Blazanov stands by. "Ugh! It was nightmarish," says the ever-clueless Merrick. "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." Ya think, Merrick? Al is frustrated. "Maybe not so drunk as he seemed, huh?" he says, stating it more than asking, really. He goes out on his balcony and looks across to the hotel, where...
... Hearst is meeting with the offending brick. "Details, sir," Hearst demands with delight. "Did the newspaperman try to defend himself? Did he beg you to stop? Did he cry out?" Oh, fuck you. The brick sneers. "He said, 'Oh, dear.' Was bleeding and curled up like a baby!" Hearst smiles his leviathan smile.
Back in Al's office, Doc (who seems much less afflicted with the TB than we once feared) tells Merrick he probably has a cracked rib. Merrick asks Al what purpose the brick would have had in feigning drunkenness during the attack. "Allow you to penetrate the pretense? Teach fear while inflicting pain?" Al suggests. "You printed any letters lately, Merrick, that some miserable cocksucker would send an underling to punish you for? Hmm?" This contingency had, of course, not even occurred to Merrick. "Bastard," he spits. Poor Blazanov gets emotional. "I should be ashamed that I didn't come to help," he groans. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Merrick, my dear friend!" Al has had enough of all this whining. "Oh, cut it the fuck out, the both of you," Al yells, "unless you want to act to the cocksucker's purpose." Blazanov sighs and pulls a telegram out of his coat. "This came for the cocksucker, Mr. Swearengen," he says, handing it over. Al reads it through and tells Blazy to deliver it. "I'd like to punch him," the Russian says, but Al advises against it. "Give him the fucking telegram," he snaps, "and no punching." Blazanov leaves as Doc is prescribing laudanum for Merrick's pain. Al has more work for him, however, before he can make an exit. "Check out that sow Tina, Doc, when the opportunity presents," he says. "That ain't the whiff of roses when she passes." Doc rolls his eyes and goes off to handle it, while Merrick continues to shift around on the mattress. "Ugh," he groans anew. "Have I bled on your bed linens, Al?" Eh, Al doesn't care. "You wouldn't be the first," he shrugs.
The Earps are back from the timber lease, which they have found to be worthless. Meanwhile, in the adjacent hardware store, Sol pulls out his little pistol (not like that!) when a band of Pinkertons thunders through the thoroughfare. Bullock gives him a clench. "Do yourself a favor, Sol," he says. "Stop thinking of that Derringer as a problem-solver." Walking in from the back, Trixie casually comments that it's solved several for her. Bullock smiles and goes out to see the Earps, who ain't happy. "Our timber lease ain't nothing but pecker poles," Morgan laments, and doesn't even have time to complain before that asshole Pinkerton from earlier in the day comes back to mess with him. "Let's see them blisters, Hiram," the guy says, jumping around like some kind of clown. Morgan holds up his hand nodding as he turns his back on the dude and then in one swift move, turns back around, pulls his gun, and shoots the mofo in the leg! THAT is what I'm talking about. Hated Morgan last week, love him now. Wyatt's still cuter, though, and has a much cooler head, as is proven when he rushes to the wounded man and pulls the guy's gun from his holster before anything else can happen. Inside the store, Bullock commands Sol and Trixie to stay there while he goes out to do his lawman routine. The Head Brick arrives on the scene, but Bullock fires a shot into the air before anyone can get too close. "Stand away 'til I find out what happened here!" he yells. Wyatt says the fight was fair, on which the HB calls immediate bullshit. "Corey was under orders not to draw," he insists, which...well, that doesn't do much for Corey's case, does it? He was ONLY under orders to act like the king of all buttholes? Well, give the guy a certificate or something, because he followed those orders to the letter. Bullock points out that Corey's gun was, in fact, out of its holster. "Was it you took it out after he was down?" the HB sneers, and oooohhhhh, the clench comes on so hard my own jaw aches in sympathy. "Do you say I did," Bullock grinds out, "that saw me come from my store as you came down the boardwalk?" The HB says someone must have done it, since ol' employee of the month Corey had orders not to draw. Bullock sees red. He resorts to his old standby, the patented Bullock Ear Clench, and gets a vicious lobe-hold on the HB, dragging him toward the jailhouse. "You're fuckin' under arrest," he clenches, hard, "for interfering with a fucking peace officer!" He spits to the Earps to come with him for questioning. "All right, Sheriff," they mumble like third-graders caught by the principal, but Bullock is too far in the clench to even notice them now. "You tell your men to interfere," he dares the HB. "Give me a reason to do what I want."
Though it very obviously turns his stomach to do it, Blazanov delivers Hearst's telegram. Hearst reaches for a tip to give him, but Blazy shakes his head. "I decline your gratuity, sir," he says, coolly. "Change in policy."
Downstairs, Aunt Lou is having a training session, teaching Richardson how to cure a ham. She goes over what is obviously a repeat of the lesson they've had earlier, and Richardson dutifully answers all questions about curing and hanging the ham for three weeks. "How you remember three weeks is up?" Lou asks, smiling a little. "The notch where I sleep," Richardson answers, "beside the notches for my other hams." Lou is very proud. "You getting the hang of this, Richardson," she says, pleased. "So time I ain't gonna ask you, only check did you make your notch." Richardson shyly smiles. "You'll find it made, Ain't Leeeww," he says, nearly killing me with his pride over his ham notches.
Their lesson is cut short by Hearst, who comes in and politely asks Richardson to excuse them. He goes off, stage right, carrying ham. Lou's happiness is to be short-lived. Hearst delivers the crushing news that Odell has been killed. She, naturally, flips, especially when the evil one tries to put his arms around her for comfort. She shoves him away. "You don't have to feign strength with me, Aunt Lou," Hearst says, like an idiot, but she only pushes him harder. "I ain't pretending shit!" she yells. "Get the hell away from 'round me, sir!" With one final shove, she runs from the room, sobbing, leaving Hearst alone in what appears to be fresh back pain. If only it could be from Lou having shoved a knife in him.
Speaking of pain, Jane is full-on blotto sleeping on, I don't know, a pile of trash and empties, when Mose arrives and wakes her. She complains about him blocking her light. "I thought [you] was Giganto, the runaway circus elephant," she slurs, but Mose just sighs. "Miss Stubbs has been looking for you," he says. "Those kids need chaperoning to the new schoolhouse, Jane." She turns away, covering her ears and clamping her eyes closed. "I cannot hear you," she boozes, "nor can I see you any longer." Mose has had enough. "You fucking drunken slob!" he yells, grabbing her up and scaring her to death. Jane freaks until he finally releases her in tired disgust. "Get up and walk them kids," he says as she continues to seethe. "Okay, Giganto!" she drunkenly retorts, trying to haul herself up. "Don't tusk me to death with your tusks!"
We cut to the smokehouse, where Aunt Lou has collapsed into the arms of Richardson. They sob together as if their hearts would break.
Bullock is writing up the witness statement, or whatever, at the jailhouse. He asks Morgan who produced his weapon first in the fight with the Pinkerton. "We drew as one," Morgan assures him. From the holding cell, the Head Brick protests. "That's a fucking liiiiieee," he snarks. Charlie looks at him, strangely. "Come here a second," he says, stepping to the cell. The HB leans toward him, wondering what Charlie has to say, giving Charlie the chance to unexpectedly PUNCH him in the FACE. Ah, HA! Yes! That one's for Merrick! "Shut up," Charlie tells the HB as Bullock slides the written statement over to Wyatt and Morgan. "Are you as sure about your timber lease?" he asks them. "Are you as sure that lease ain't worth fuck-all?" Morgan says they are absolutely certain. "Then nothing holds you here," Bullock says, continuing to address his boyfr-- I MEAN -- Wyatt. "And arguing against you staying is who this fuckhead works for, and the man you shot in the fair fight." Wyatt gives him a half-smile as Bullock concludes in as good-natured a tone as he can manage: "Best you move on, taking your genius brother with you." Morgan, ashamed, feels the need to explain himself. "Uh, I ain't showed myself to advantage here, Sheriff," he assures him. "I'm fully fucking aware."
Outside, Bellegarde walks the boardwalk, ringing a bell and wearing a sandwich board that advertises the evening's amateur hour. Oh, the indignity!
Jane arrives at the old schoolhouse looking bloated and shaky. Martha is lining up the kids for the walk, making them all hold hands. Seeing Joanie, Jane pauses, then staggers over to her, asking her to stay close, should she need shoring up during the trip. The children link arms to begin their journey across the thoroughfare. With all the weight they give it in this episode, you'd think they were in the damn Odyssey. They start their walk, in which Jane does need help -- Joanie takes her hand to steady her as they lead the children down the street and through the muck with Martha bringing up the rear.
Bullock is finishing up at the jail when Johnny knocks on the door. The sheriff cuts right to the chase before Johnny can even get started. "Tell him I ain't coming for his lecture. Tell him I don't need it," he says, talking about Al. "Tell him," he says, pointing to the Head Brick, "if my temper was gonna get the best of me, this cocksucker's brains would be on the floor. Tell him I've got it. All right?" he closes, calmly. "Tell him I'm on top of it." Love it. Johnny, thoroughly told, leaves without a word.
Charlie looks out to see the procession of kids coming down the street and calls to Bullock. "I told Mrs. Bullock I'd walk with her," Bullock says, rushing out to the group and dismissing the Earps. He strides down the boardwalk, his eyes on Martha, even as he pauses to share nothing more than a friendly nod with Mrs. Ellsworth, who looks very happy and waves to Sophia as she goes by. Now, I'm sure, things are going on in this scene. I...don't know what they are. Honestly, Milch is trying to tell me something, and maybe I'm just tired, but I can't suss it. I did have some wine tonight, but you'd think that would help. The kids march forward as the various elements in the town look on. Perhaps we're to notice that for the brief time they are in the thoroughfare, the rest of camp puts their constant bloodletting on pause. In any case, I have a few blessed minutes free of dialogue.
That evening, the whole camp gathers to watch the amateur night. Dan even wears a tie! They all stand and listen as Langrishe nearly chokes himself with dramatic language, welcoming them all, explaining the greatness of the theater, and giving a small tribute to the fallen Chesterton.
Lou is chopping up potatoes when Hearst comes down to ridiculously ask how she's feeling. Ass. "I'm getting dinner ready," she says, simply, holding back tears. "Don't," Hearst insists. "Isn't right you serving supper to strangers when you're in such grief." That's true, but him telling her not to only makes her want to do it more. They are interrupted by the abhorrent Jarry. Hearst tells him that the kitchen is closed and here, people...HERE is the weirdest moment in the history of this show, which you know is not short on weird moments. "The sustenance I would take in any case, Mr. Hearst," Jarry says, "like a newly-hatched bird, would come, I would hope, from your mouth." First of all, I can barely even type the words without gagging slightly. Secondly, if I only possessed the descriptive powers to properly tell you of the INSANE regurgitating bird impression Jarry does here...I still can't even believe it. I have rewound it about 100 times and I honestly am clueless as to what on earth they were thinking with this nastiness. Hearst, for his part, is also creeped to the gills and as Jarry goes upstairs behind him, Hearst insists the freak not follow him so damn close. Back in the kitchen, Lou continues to slice, with some violence. "Kill you if I could, George Hearst," she mutters to herself. Oh, you could, Aunt Lou. You could.
Outside, the amateur revelries continue. Some girl comes up to sing "Jesus Loves Me" in the most ridiculous, anachronistic, American Idol fashion you can imagine. When are people going to understand that gospel music and, while I'm on the subject, the national anthem, are not songs of seduction? Get over yourself, Deadwood Jessica Simpson. Yes, Jesus loves you, but He don't love you like THAT. Back at the jailhouse, Bullock and Charlie are still dealing with the hateful HB. They release him from the cell, which he considers a great opportunity to be a bitch. "I was arrested, I was locked up," he derides them. "What's the upshot?" This makes Bullock so mad he has to do his nose thing and, seeing the signs of eminent clenching, Charlie tosses the HB his gun belt. "Go and sin no more," he cracks, and the HB goes out, chuckling evilly. Bullock sighs and sends Charlie off to the amateur night. He knows he wants to go. "You don't mind?" Charlie says, surprised. "All right. I believe I'll attend badgeless, lest I put a damper on stupidities."As the revelry continues outside, we see the Earps ride out of town while Al furiously wipes down his bar, alone in the Gem. "Fucking amateur night," he says, bitterly, pouring himself a drink. "Some people gotta fucking work." Cy no doubt agrees, alone in his own joint, puffing a cigar.
At the schoolhouse, Joanie is sweeping up while she and Jane discuss the children's reactions to the new place. "Little fucking James, huh?" Jane says, shaking her head. Joanie agrees that James is quite the chatterbox. "'Why? Why? Why?'" Jane imitates him. "Shut the fuck up and maybe you'll find out." They look up at the tree house built in the branches of the bur oak. "What's a tree house doing way the fuck up there?" Jane asks for us all. She shrugs, adding: "I like them school kids."
Outside, Langrishe is cheering along with the crowd as Richardson performs his talent -- juggling. "Well done, well done," Jack applauds. "Orbs of gold! The wonderful Mr. Richardson and his magic orbs!" E.B. is alarmed at this display of acceptance for his personal slave and stands to shout him down. "Richardson!" he yells to the boos of the crowd. "You're done." Langrishe shakes his head. "Envy," he tells E.B., "is a cardinal sin." As if E.B. has time to commit another cardinal sin, considering how much of his day he devotes to greed.
We see Ellsworth, all moody, watching from a remove. Above, Hearst stands on his DIY balcony looking on while Jarry hovers in the hole (augh! I don't know what else to call it), seemingly afraid of heights. Finally, his purpose for being there is revealed. He tells Hearst that the governor has 265 soldiers bivouacked near Sturgis and another 200 could be brought to the hills if needed to vote in the upcoming elections. "Why can't the soldiers near Sturgis vote twice?" Hearst asks, his evil ever practical. Jarry explains that the extra guys are in place "should poll watchers prove hostile to repeaters." Ah. Good plan, bad guys. Hearst is annoyed that Jarry won't join him on his little balcony and insists that he come out. "Better you dizzy than me have to turn around and look at you," the selfish ass insists. The freak Jarry creeps slightly more onto the roof, gripping the window sills. "These votes will support candidates of your preference in each office, Mr. Hearst, as if cast by you yourself," he promises. "My stringent instruction from Governor Pennington is to convey upon my return a confirmation in your hand that we have had this conversation." Hearst rolls his eyes. "Then the governor, in turn," he says, "confirms the rumor he's a moron." Jarry gives him a nervous laugh as if the governor is secretly listening in on some Old West body mic. "My heavens, no," he says. "I do not mean that he would seek your signature on any itemizing of particulars, merely to confirm the fact that I spoke to you." He tries to hand Hearst a paper to sign, but Hearst just glares at him.
Joanie and Jane are still cleaning up at the school when they are interrupted by Cy. It's good to see him be so genuinely menacing again, but... why would he do this now? This scene feels tacked on, to me -- what is his interest in messing with Joanie at this point. "Oh my God," Jane says, seeing him arrive. "Oft confused with the most high," Cy smarms in a brilliant line, "though our inseams got different lengths." For reasons unknown to me, Jane is truly afraid of him and panics, yelling "fuck you! fuck you!" as she runs out the back door. Joanie is more tiredly cautious. "You can't come in here, Cy," she tells him. "If you need us to talk, we can do it somewheres else. It ain't for you to come in here." Cy's drunk and angry. "Fuck you, Joanie Stubbs," he spits back, "and your fucked-out whore's-thinking what's mine to come into and ain't." She takes a step forward as if to challenge him, which is exactly what he wants. Meanwhile, Jane has gone running for Mose. "Help, Miss Stubbs," she cries to him. "I'm too afraid." Mose goes running yelling for Cy to get away. "Well now, Mose," Cy says, mockingly, taken aback. "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!" Joanie's had enough and yells for him to go along. "I wonder how 'til tonight I found my way in the world at all, not having my steps directed at every fucking quarter," Cy bitches. "I got fucking places to go." He stomps away, yanking on the school bell and causing Jane to jump at the noise. She goes over to stand again with Joanie, and takes her hand.
The NG wheels Steve up to the amateur night festivities. "Isn't this fun, man?" he asks, taking a swig of whiskey. And I suppose for Deadwood, this is fun, though I am not sure how much I'd want to hang out and see people pulling out their glass eyes and calling it a talent. Of course, I have occasionally watched Flavor of Love, which is tantamount to the same thing. Above all this craziness, we see Hearst sign Jarry's letter and the Head Brick return to meet with his boss.
At the Gem, Al's having his own little amateur performance. Alone, he sings a traditional Irish cowboy ballad, "The Unfortunate Rake," a song that could have well been sung about many Gem patrons mourning their syphilitic outcomes: "If she had but told me before she disordered me / If she had but told me all but in time / I mighta got pills and salts of white mercury / But now I'm cut down in the height of my prime." He pauses, perhaps thinking of worse fates, and sings on, now kind of sadly: "So don't muffle your drums and play your fifes merrily / And play a quick march as you carry me along / And blaze your bright muskets all over my coffin / Saying there goes an unfortunate lad to his home."