Original subtitles

Fixin' toward a bloody outcome, boss.

Absenting myself don't change your fuckin' instructions.

Parp.

Parp. Parp.

Parp.

Parp.

- Slainte. - Slainte.

Parp.

Parp. Parp.

Parp.

Whoop goggle.

Whoop goggle, boop boop.

Parp.

Hey!

Hey!

- Get the fuck out! - He come at me with his foreign gibberish.

You get the fuck out while I let you get the fuck out.

You too! You get out that way.

Leave him be or you'll be riding the goddamn sled with him.

Get out!

Parp...

Either of you cocksuckers want to talk funny at me?

Good day, sir.

Good day.

Wu's out of camp.

Store him in our corner of the icehouse.

- Will you look this over? - Certainly.

Words doing the wrong jobs,

piling on too heavy or at odds over meaning...

I'll mark my suggestions.

Nothing showy is the main thing.

I understand.

Shall I gather my school supplies?

I'm much obliged.

That's better, isn't it?

Mm.

Over here?

I will apologize, Mr. Ellsworth, for what I am about to ask.

She wants to try it on the ceiling.

A coverlet, dark red, is packed with the linens in the gray leather trunk.

Back at the hotel.

It's near time in any case to take Sofia to school.

The settee is best sited

with its spread upon it would be your mother's idea.

Mr. Ellsworth will help you gather your things,

- darling, for school. - Young lady.

- Goodbye. - Bye.

Will I bring you back a sandwich or a glass of milk?

Just the coverlet, thank you.

I'd sooner be hanging from those hustings

than stand on 'em giving a speech.

Nuttall's bartender's no hand at it either.

We both may get pelted with refuse.

- Morning. - Good morning, Sofia.

Good morning.

We will we bake bread again today?

- Is it your vote we should? - Yes.

And Mr. Bullock for sheriff and Mr. Star for mayor.

And I will put the bread in to bake.

If I'm to believe what I read, you're heavily scheduled today.

- Yes. - As to your meetin' with Hearst,

if the chance comes up natural,

stomp on the cocksucker's foot.

- Morning. - Yes, ma'am.

Off to the Bella Union like the moth to the fucking flame.

Miss Stubbs didn't name her destination.

I'm telling you where she's going.

And why don't you look for honest work?

Miss Stubbs holds what I'm doing for honest.

She no more needs a watchman

than she does a fucking balloonist.

And why should the young of this camp have to scurry past

your man-toad figure to receive an education?

The time they come for schoolin',

I'm in back and out of sight.

Exposin' them to being terrified only when they use the privy.

Go get your load on, Jane.

Do not instruct me how to spend my day...

or to itemize for you

my crowded itinerary...

you tub of blubber and guts.

I've got 10 minutes yet to be out front.

Might I give over the little one to you here?

Of course.

When next we meet, young lady,

I will be on the eye for warm bread.

Wants a coverlet from storage... Mrs. Ellsworth...

to consider atop the daybed.

Framing of a dream.

He's saying that to you, Seth.

Mr. Ellsworth,

no doubt on some menial domestic errand.

Sheriff!

Forgive my raucous tone.

- Mr. Swearengen. - May we have a word?

Once I've see 'em to school, I meet Hearst.

Very much what I'd have us speak of.

Can we plant beets again today?

Yes.

"Thank you... thank you for the introduction, Sheriff."

- Sheriff. - Morning, Charlie.

- Morning. Mrs. Bullock. - Good morning, Mr. Utter.

Morning there, little one, in your lovely go-to-school outfit.

Good morning.

Did the evening pass in quiet?

The morning got a little busy.

Cornishman killed in The Gem.

His buddies come babbling to our office.

Dority kill him?

The complainants can't speak right

so I had to have them play act.

- But I'm guessing no. - They up in the office still?

Down in Hearst's shafts.

We'll say goodbye.

- Goodbye. Goodbye, Sofia. - Goodbye.

- Goodbye there, little one. - Goodbye.

Thank you.

Hi, Dorothy. Good morning, James.

Nice thing, ain't it?

The children?

Will you attend the evening speeches, Richardson?

- If you let me. - Of course I will.

How else are you to vote with intelligence?

I intend no lengthy remarks.

My tenure as mayor speaks for me.

Will they have the Jew merchant instead?

Well, let them then and welcome.

I caught you, Richardson, stuffin' spitbacks in your vile maw.

"Let tomorrow's omelets go empty."

Is that your fuckin' attitude?

- You hurted me. - Shh!

Wash and stack, shit monkey, or ready yourself for worse.

- Congratulations, sir. - Congratulations.

Florence Nightingale.

Florence Nightingale is a nurse.

I know that, you ignorant cocksucker.

Joanie Stubbs is a cocksucker.

I know that, you ignorant fuck.

Don't be sweatin' all over the gentleman's money.

1500.

And thank you for that rasher of shit.

Give us this day our daily bread,

and forgive us our trespasses

as we forgive those who trespass against us.

And lead us not into temptation,

but deliver us from evil,

for Thine is the kingdom

and the power and the glory, forever and ever.

Amen.

- Morning, Tess. - Morning, Joanie.

Git.

- I can take him that. - I got it.

How's Cy?

I don't know yet, Tess.

It's none of your business anyway.

You're only business is how you start the fucking day.

- I'm clean. - Before you go to sleep,

how are you supposed to start?

- I said I'm clean. - You answer my goddamn question.

- My snatch is clean. - Is the rest of your body clean?

- Yes. - What's next?

The room where I receive, and that's fucking clean.

- What's next after that? - God damn you, Joanie.

What's next, Lila, if you ain't too fucking high?

- Our room where we rest. - Which don't it fuckin' stink in here?

It does, Lila, like a hogwhore's cunt.

And I ain't loaded not to smell it. Whyn't you go, girl?

Why don't you get to the muck where you're fuckin' headed anyway?

Go on. Git.

- What are you doin', sitting back there? - Oh, please let me stay.

When I'm back tonight you better all be sweet for me to fuck.

Or have your damn bags packed, 'cause I'll throw every one of you out.

Move, Tess, move.

You know she's going to let her stay.

Come on in, honey.

How are you?

I'm all right.

Was the doc by?

Brightened my early mornin'.

Another day on the right side of the ledger far as pus.

- How's the action outside? - It's quiet.

Either clown upright to tell you what the action was?

I didn't ask.

I guess you'd stopped in on the whores.

You might have mistook, Cy, pickin' Tess over Lila to see to 'em.

- Lila's on the needle. - Tess ain't pickin' up the bit.

Maybe she's unsure of her place, you in and out of our lives.

Well, fresh water.

You're not leaving yet, are you?

Right here, Cy, on the side table.

Act like a fucking baby, don't I?

"Oh, don't go."

- Where's my good book, honey? - It's just next to you, in the bedfold.

I've been scooping out rain gutters for a month.

My fingers are bloody with sandin'.

You do recall you're only the transactions beard?

A sorry run at the tables;

you can't support the loan he made you.

Well, what if he don't foreclose?

Oh, you beg him to buy you out. You may harm yourself.

You're up all hours, "What have I fucking done?" or the like.

"Maybe I should fucking end it." Star ends owning that house

is the necessary fucking conclusion.

- Coffee! - Ready.

That croaker seen to?

At Wu's icehouse under a tarp in our corner.

Will you pour it without scalding me, huh?

Breakfast?

Bacon and eggs.

You know you could have said that before I went down.

You get in the kitchen.

I liked living in that place.

Why do I give a fuck?

So why not force this morning's murder outside?

You told us not too.

As it stank of a put-up job,

I wanted to find out if we were meant for the venue.

Well, whoever put the job up can't be any too smart.

'Cause them Cornish work for Hearst.

Murder a Cornish and you buy Hearst for an enemy.

You're a fucking miracle, Johnny.

It's close to a mortal certainty

he ordered the murder himself.

- Hearst? - Shut up!

He stages a murder in my fucking joint.

Wants Bullock to show his ass before he'll bless his fucking candidacy.

What does he require of the weather?

Jesus Christ. That's it.

That's how you clean a fuckin' bloodstain, hey.

What if we stretched out the payments?

I cannot fucking make it. What the fuck was in my head to sign that note?

- Take it easy. - Take it easy, Mr. Adams.

Take it off me. Can't you?

Ain't there some way to take it off?!

Oh God!

I'm in crisis too,

needing awfully to piss.

Why not cork up and go on stage

with that tragic fuckin' minstrel turn?

Are you alone?

Yes, Miss Bernhardt, I am.

Al wants Star to take over that house.

Why?

Keep my ruddy color not askin' Al his reasons.

Disarray...

in your room.

Your last day when you left... disarray.

- I sat on the bed. - I won't have it.

Did you hear me, Shaunessey?

My last day I sat on the bed for three hours.

I had a glass of water.

Yes yes yes. Very likely.

Uh, 1F, $2.

The book, please.

Ink on the floor,

pen near blunted, possibly broke,

bindings damaged...

I won't stand for it.

Give that back to the gimp.

What the fuck are you trying to pull with Adams's fucking house?

Star needs to move into that.

He's a candidate for office.

He can't whore-fuck no longer with impunity.

Who says I want to live in that house?

You ain't. You're installing at fucking Shaunessey's.

The fuck if I'll live in that shithole.

Shaunessey being richer by 50 for his common wall

with Star's home-to-be and the passage he cut through it,

so you and the Jew can fall upon each other away from prying eyes.

Fuck you, Al,

fuck Shaunessey's

and fuck the passage

into Adams's fuckin' house.

Loopy cunt.

The wrist business on Adams' house loan,

Adams being nothing but his fucking stalking horse

from the gambit's fucking beginning.

You sign to take those over,

we'll move in your 12 possessions.

You will be free to come and go by your own front fucking door,

and as you lay in your beddy-bye,

I'll pop from the wall

like Grandma Groundhog in a storybook

and attend to your Johnson,

as he'd not see you jeopardize your mayor's campaign

whore fucking in your place of business.

And I'll have installed

in room 3-fucking-C or the like of Shaunessey's adjacent shitbox,

that he's paid Shaunessey to cut a hole through

to ease my fuckin' fucking you.

Swearengen has?

Who the fuck was I just talking to?

I don't know. You said you'd just gone to piss.

Man of the hour.

Quick prick-suck, Bullock?

Sally forth to meet the great man with unencumbered thoughts?

What happened in here this morning?

Charlie Utter says a man was murdered,

one of Hearst's workers.

I'd spare you the particulars till after your meeting concludes.

- Why? - Why ask why?

Why not honor the meeting's purpose?

Speak as a candidate of your hopes for the camp and its future,

confine yourself to generalities.

Suppose Hearst...

was this murder's architect?

Suppose the workers were thieves or organizers?

Why kill 'em in camp before witnesses?

Maybe as message to me his domain includes my fucking joint,

and to test your willingness to bend

to his fucking will before he backs your candidacy.

What we know, fucking Bullock, is if when you two meet

Hearst does ask you to go easy, and you, for love of his type, say "Fuck yourself,"

no more illumination can come to us

because you will have muddied the fuckin' waters.

Is why I'd hoped you'd skirt the topic.

Has the body been eaten?

The Cornish croaker? Wu's out of fucking camp.

Don't let it get eaten.

Oh, absolutely...

till your further full investigation.

As for your meeting with Hearst,

may I offer a fervent Godspeed

and hopes for your fucking self-control?!

What am I, Lord,

that I'm so helpless?

Bullock.

He ascends, Richardson,

to be dug at and sifted and shoveled

till his crucial vein is exposed.

Then Hearst will empty him out.

Much anticipated, Mr. Bullock,

some good solid talk between us.

- Will you drink? - No...

- thanks. - I believe I won't either.

I'm told that you operate a hardware concern.

I'm partnered with Sol Star.

Ah, candidate for mayor, as you are for sheriff.

And an officer of the Deadwood Bank.

Sol's Chief Officer, yes.

And you are an officer too.

Yes.

The bank capitalized, as I understand,

by Mrs. Alma Garret Ellsworth...

formerly quartered in this hotel

and who has struck so rich in these hills.

Way back second to you.

Extraordinary,

the story of that woman's adventures.

Do you suppose that its future chapters

might be written...

elsewhere than the Hills?

What are your intentions?

As to Mrs. Ellsworth's holdings,

I would shape those to the lady's preferences,

and be pleased and grateful if you told her.

Do you need a handkerchief, Mr. Bullock?

No.

Unfortunate incident this morning

at Swearengen's saloon. Do you know about it?

No.

One of my workmen was killed in a drunken shootout.

- Hmm. - How will you deal with that, Sheriff?

Depends... what it was about? Who makes complaints?

Mmm. My worker was Cornish.

They are a clannish people. I suppose another Cornish might complain.

I'd need to hear what he said then.

He may also indict the sunrise.

For men of that sort,

events such as these are as natural.

Anyways.

May we speak of your ambitions?

Another time.

I would want to support them, you see? I would want to back you...

to thank you for taking her my message.

I never said I'd take her your message.

Are you saying now that you won't?

You stay out of our fuckin' affairs.

Oh... affairs of that sort

are not my interest, Mr. Bullock.

My only passion is the color.

Excuse me.

Bullock, how did you like Mr. Hearst?

What are you doing?

Oh!

- You piece of shit. - How have I given offense?

You told him.

Call the law.

The sheriff's killing the mayor.

In the thoroughfare, if I fucking need you.

Bullock?

Bullock... Bullock!

Why are you beating Farnum in Mr. Hearst's hotel?

How are you, sir?

I am well, Mr. Swearengen, and how are you?

Bullock!

Shall I have him seen to, sir?

He seems to need that.

My place, Sheriff?

Boys! EB's had an accident.

Under your supervision, and then inform us on his further transport.

Yes.

Give the poor fuck your shoulders, boys, huh?

Sheriff!

- Much experienced at the enterprise, sir. - I haven't a doubt.

And once he's situated, may you and me speak?

Of course.

You saw fuckin' nothing.

Jesus, Joseph and Mary.

Mrs. Ellsworth?

No.

You must drink this.

I will not awaken that demon, Doctor.

This has nothing to do with demons, Mrs. Ellsworth.

This has to do with allaying the pain to get you through.

Leave the demons to God and trust the pain to me.

"A lady should not choose a man who chews tobacco."

A lady should not choose a man...

who chews tobacco.

"It robs his pocket, soils his clothes...

and makes a chimney of his nose."

Good, peek.

So if one of 'em sees you, they give up attendance forever.

I suppose you didn't come to peek in.

I came to shit in the privy,

which is where you're supposed to be during school hours.

How does it feel to take one sitting up?

"The Jews burn sacrifices upon an altar of stone."

The Jews burn sacrifices upon an altar of stone.

Altars of the kind in the sentence are spelled

T-A-R.

It's not so important always to be right, Mary,

or to be first.

"Indians are sometimes very cruel."

- I'm pulling out as a candidate. - No, you aren't.

He'll use knowing to try to control me, have his way in the camp's affairs.

He asked me to get her to sell.

Oh, best leave the camp entirely as penance for having a prick.

You were right about the killing. He didn't want it pursued.

Bleeding?

- He stopped. - Put him up on the fucking bed then.

No grand gestures, fucking Bullock,

till I've had my talk with Hearst. Do not fucking withdraw.

And no more beating up on Farnum that has to run against Star.

It's no certainty Hearst knew one goddamned thing about Bullock putting it to the widow.

Hell of a beating for EB to take if he's innocent.

He's still way ahead of the game.

Nonetheless, we must now assume that Hearst does fucking know.

As going mad in front of him, Bullock might have tipped him as to the state of things.

- How are you gonna go at Hearst? - Don't I yearn for the days

a draw across the throat made fucking resolution?

Why, Dan, by composing my thoughts, tropes and gambits

for the talk between us that is yet to come.

Will you excuse me?

Sure.

- Is she dying? - She's not in imminent danger.

The baby?

Your wife is still with child.

I saw the blood on the floor.

There wasn't as much blood as I'm sure it seemed to you.

Mrs. Ellsworth must remain abed,

and she must take the medicine I've given her,

her fear of it notwithstanding. And you must remain strong at her side.

I have to collect the child. May I ask you to st...

I'll stay here till you come back, and then I'll go collect Trixie to help you.

Thank you, Doctor.

Who the fuck are all these people?

Guess the stages are gonna be crowded.

Headed to collect the missus?

I just beat Farnum.

Meeting Hearst, I got the idea someone

had told him business of mine.

Figured it was Farnum?

If it'd been me, I'da gone ahead and killed him.

I wonder now if I might have mistook...

- Fuck Farnum anyway. - If I tipped Hearst myself,

- is what I'm wondering now. - Ah.

And of my temper generally, I'm wondering about...

far as running for office.

Maybe you just don't want to speak tonight.

I know I don't want to speak.

I'm wondering if I ought to withdraw.

Talking against my own interests...

being if you pull out, I won't have to speak from the audience...

far as conversing with your rival,

what's your best fuckin' experience?

- Harry Manning? - Huh.

I guess that once the two of us talked to him.

When he killed Bummer Dan by mistake.

And that was high fucking water.

So you'd hold me as fair

calling Harry fucking outright dimwitted?

You think better than the sheriff with a shortish temper,

which in certain sheriffing situations is a plus,

camp be better with Harry?

Anyways.

You gonna have dinner with us?

May be my last fucking meal if apoplexy takes me...

off my nervousness.

What if you won?

I won't. I'm only in it to make myself known.

Say you're fucking elected, Harry,

am I entitled to the fucking livery abandoned

by the nigger Hostetler leaving its stock to starve?

Well, I know you've took up its care.

And do you as sheriff hold my fucking labor speaks for me,

my diligent fuckin' efforts the last six fuckin' weeks?

Well, uh, I'd hold with the law, Steve, whatever statute applied.

Well, oughtn't a "statue" have to do with justice

and not just to bait back a fled fucking nigger

looking to steal what a white man's worked for?

Well, Hostetler ain't come back. Why think he ever will?

Because it's my family luck

over centuries

to get repeatedly fucked up the ass.

And here in this fucking camp

is where the chain gets fucking broken.

And I'm askin' if you as sheriff will stand with me?!

Yeah, I ain't sheriff.

I got problems enough today

without kiting checks on tomorrow's.

That was a wiggle

worthy of a fucking reptile, Harry.

- Bullock took a position? - I ain't asked Bullock!

Fool that I am, I figured I'd give you first crack

on the basis of our friendship.

But I guess I was mistaken.

I've got an idea.

Instead of running for office and tending bar,

why don't you just tend bar

and let everybody punch you in the face?

Hello, Jane.

Yeah, hello.

Several of the children's parents have told them you scouted for Custer.

I can't hear you!

Several of the children's parents have told them you scouted for Custer.

Not that the arrogant bastard ever heeded others' counsel.

Shall we fashion a story about your experiences, Jane,

for the children to hear?

Do you talk this low when you're teaching the children?

Shall we fashion a story about your experiences, Jane,

for the children to hear?

Uh, I best say no.

My funds just now all go for liquor.

I see.

I fine myself for swearing amongst the young.

And just now, I need my money for booze.

We'd tell your story to avoid those.

Does that Mose Manuel horrify the children?

- No. - Gives 'em bad dreams at night?

- No, the children like Mose. - I expect he pisses you off.

No.

Well, he irritates the hell out of me.

Oh, I was just going, Sheriff.

I thought I left a bottle in here.

Must've left it in the shitpile outside.

Goodbye, Jane.

Good afternoon.

How was your meeting with Mr. Hearst?

We needn't be afraid is the main thing.

She'll not be of a sudden

taken or the like.

The doctor's guaranteed it.

So when we're with her,

we needn't be worried.

Do you want to keep it?

May not be a matter of my choosing.

As I suppose we both fucking know.

I'm asking...

if all the way down,

you want to bring it into the world.

I want it very much.

Or if an accident befalling or fate intervening or...

however you want to fucking put it,

might find a small part of you relieved.

I want my baby.

Then you're gonna lay down and be spoiled

and put off proving what else you can do

until after you've popped out this kid.

"Voters of the camp,

do you see come before you

some swollen and dissolute stranger?

Do not mistake..."

"It is I, EB Farnum!"

Lie back, EB.

"Beaten past recognition by

a candidate for another office."

Lie the fuck back...

...and listen.

I need your truthful reply.

Lie, I will know it,

and death will be no respite.

I told Hearst nothing of Bullock and the widow.

I will profane your fucking remains, EB.

- Not my remains, Al. - Gabriel's trumpet will produce you

from the ass of a pig.

You told me not to tell him, and I didn't.

I believe you.

My pain is such that gives me no solace.

Try not to blame Bullock for presuming it was you,

considering your fucking history.

Anyways, tonight's speeches are fucking canceled.

- Nurse your fuckin' wounds. - Thank you.

I do not mean here.

All right. Let me collect myself.

Cocksuckers.

Say what you have to say...

Again for Merrick, Dan. Gratis.

Uh, I'm due no special thanks, Al.

Facilitating presentation of the candidates

is the honor and privilege of the press.

That's off, the presentation.

Is Farnum incapable of speech? Does Star refuse to take advantage?

- Other factors at play. - But surely Bullock and Harry Manning

- still can take to the hustings. - I got to notify the parties.

I'm an interested party too, Al,

and I require explanation.

Jesus Christ. How interested are you?

Enough to bleed to keep the business from being a fucking puppet show?

I can imagine bleeding, if first I've been made to understand.

No one asked if you could imagine bleeding,

or if you'd have tumbling or somersaults or cartwheels to bring you into the lists.

Drink and fuck on the house, but do not attempt to detain me.

In what state?

We ain't in a state, Shaunessey.

What condition? The room?

How much disarray?

No fucking disarray.

But you nearly had brain on your walls.

Ooh!

You see me empty, sir,

do not pause and inquire,

simply assume and refill.

Would you rather we spoke in private?

- Fuck, no. I'd rather the gentleman stay. - Captain Turner.

I'd rather the captain stay. Brings home I consort with my betters.

I'll not dissemble, sir,

today's events have gave me pause.

Hmm. Tell me what you mean.

The beating of Farnum most recently.

How is Mr. Farnum?

Worse for wear, not that I'd care if he weren't in your hire.

Where does the sheriff get off taking off on one of your own?

I don't consider Bullock came here to beat Farnum.

He and I had appointed to meet.

In my joint this morning, another of your workers

- was gut-shot, Mr. Hearst. - Yes, I know.

Now this wasn't some hoople-head bullshit. This had the feel of a put-up job.

I fear a plot against you.

I have learned to accept, Mr. Swearengen,

that events sharing some effect on my interests

does not make them part of a plot.

You ain't the center of the universe, in other words.

Exactly.

- Don't that lead you to despair? - No, sir.

You're stronger-minded than I.

Bullock beating Farnum seems more likely

some expression of a private feeling of his own.

That leaves the bloodshed in my bar, sir.

How do you account for that?

Nor are the Cornish well-loved as a race.

Oh, not you through the Cornish,

maybe the Cornish themselves were the object of the violence.

They do tend to aggregate and organize

- to further their financial interests. - Unions.

Have you strong feelings on that subject?

I don't give a fuck about unions, Mr. Hearst.

Nor do I have any objection to the killing of the Cornish

as high-graders... aggregating organizing cocksuckers.

But bloodletting on my premises that I ain't approved

I take as a fucking affront.

It puts me off my feed.

How do we know when you are off your feed?

You'll start to see me tearing things down.

Speeches tonight are canceled.

Unless the insult's cured by tomorrow,

there'll be further tearing down.

Fuck the fucking elections, and fuck the agreement with Yankton.

Let the camp return to its former repute:

- unstable and unsafe for commerce. - I'm a great believer in those.

Oh, stability, sir, and commerce? I can fucking imagine.

- Think of all they've helped you accomplish. - Shall I perceive you then

as dangerous to my interests?

As capable of inconvenience

and of some damage and death

to those that would act against my interests,

I cannot fucking argue with dangerous.

Different from powerful though,

which speaks to potency longer term.

I'd not have myself called powerful in your company or the captain's.

Then I'll hope that your insult is cured

to spare the camp any danger

of however brief a duration.

And to look for one fucking instant

out of the other end of the telescope,

once placated...

I'm meek as a babe.

Dead.

You will want to converse

with those friends of yours, Captain Turner,

who argued with the Cornish.

Perhaps they'd care to pay another visit to the saloon.

I think I'll want to hear the talk.

Fucking pagan.

Tell your god to ready for blood.

"Thank you, Sheriff Bullock.

Evening. Evening, everybody."

"Citizens..."

Would you rather I didn't introduce you from the audience?

Is it all so hard to remember?

No, I, uh, I-I think I got it.

Unless you don't wanna.

Ought we to start soon for the hustings?

Five minutes.

Adams may default on that house.

Asks me to assume his note.

That's a very pleasant house.

Uh, I-I'd...

never thought of myself as a homeowner.

It's very very spacious.

It's Albert Swearengen.

The speeches are postponed.

Is Farnum turned for the worse?

I'd borrow the sheriff a moment.

Evening, Jane.

Mrs. Bullock asks me to author with her

to give the children an account of my scouting for Custer.

I think I'd like to hear that story myself.

"Custer was a cunt. The end."

Yo, a piss puddle.

Must not have seen that when seating myself.

Why are you drinking so much?

I drink what I'm able.

If that comes to much...

that's the day's affair and the liquor's.

You returning to the Bella Union?

Not tonight.

As residence and workplace is my meaning.

Those girls need looking out for.

And who will look out for you

against that gut-stabbed cocksucker,

weaving schemes from his coming to Jesus?

I don't know.

Why is everybody fucking whispering all of a sudden?!

I said I don't know.

Do you mind...

if I stay here tonight?

I'd be glad if you would.

I don't know why you started sleeping outside anyway.

Every day takes figuring out all over again how to fucking live.

Night, Jane.

Yep.

Pain-in-the-balls Hearst.

Running his holdings like a despot, I grant,

has a fucking logic. It's the way I fucking run mine.

It's the way I'd run my home if I fucking had one.

But there's no practical need for him to run the fucking camp.

That's out of scale, it's out of proportion

and it's a warped unnatural impulse,

this fucking cocksucker!

Sorry.

Shall I go back down with you?

It won't be just now.

He'll be wanting to marshal his cutthroats.

Do stay in hailing distance.

♪ Now look ♪

♪ If me and a grizzly's ♪

♪ Having a fight ♪

♪ No, don't you think the fight ain't fair ♪

♪ You talking 'bout helping me? ♪

♪ You better help that grizzly bear ♪

♪ I got a razor, man ♪

♪ And I got a chib, this is a cinch ♪

♪ Man, I can split a bolt of lightning ♪

♪ Before lightning could move a inch. ♪