Original subtitles

Zo...

Nog meer geweren Waar ik niet van weet?

Now, later on, I'm gonna remember asking this question

and I'm gonna remember your answer, so one more time.

Any more guns I don't know about?

I just want to make an announcement.

What announcement?

Stew is on.

Fortify, son.

Why you want to sit here by yourself?

Everybody's sitting right over here.

- Just come have a little... - Well, if you're hungry,

- go sit at the table. - Well...

And then you will be eating with a nigger.

You ain't got to sit next to that nigger.

Judas was at the table.

General, you ain't got to sit with that nigger.

You can sit next to me.

I will never change my mind on this matter.

Now, just come sit at the table,

have a bowl of stew with us.

After you, Major.

- Just a small bowl? - No.

- One little, small bowl? - N-O!

General, you need to get some food in you.

Please. I'll bring you a little, small bowl.

I'll get you a cup of coffee.

I said no to you.

Wouldn't it be nice to sit with a group of people?

Sit with a nigger at the table and eat?

General Smithers, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to insist.

- Please. - Hey.

What privilege do you never have?

Touching an officer above you in rank.

General, son.

- Well, can I bring you... - Go eat your dinner

with your nigger friend. Amen.

General, you ain't got to sit next to that nigger.

You must be toying with me, son.

I'll bring you a blanket.

I got a blanket.

You need to get some food in your stomach, General.

You know, Bob...

Do you think I, for a minute,

that I want to go over and sit and eat?

...if old Minnie was here, she'd have made some cornbread.

Please, just bring you a little bowl of stew

- over here to your chair. - No.

Have you forgotten how to take an order, Captain?

You are dismissed.

Yes, sir.

I still don't feel good

about not getting you something to eat.

Let me know if you change your mind.

Okay.

I'm gonna cut you loose while we eat.

You get any ideas, I ain't going soft on you.

Lift your ass even one inch off that seat,

and I'll put a bullet right in your goddamn throat.

Come here.

Oh.

So, Domergue...

I suppose this blizzard counts as a stroke of luck

far as you're concerned.

You don't hear me complainin', do ya?

No, I sure don't.

Well, how 'bout you, Oswaldo?

How 'bout me what?

Look...

considering all the things I done for money,

I ain't one to judge, but...

don't you feel just the least little bad

about hangin' a woman?

Well, until they invent a trigger a woman can't pull,

if you're a hangman, you're going to hang women.

Well, hell, Ozzie,

I guess I ain't never looked at it like that before.

When it comes to some of them mean bastards out there,

it's the only thing does the job.

You really only need to hang mean bastards.

But mean bastards, you need to hang.

You goddamn son of a bitch!

I almost died out there!

I ain't ever... going out in that shit

ever, ever again!

You okay, O.B.?

I'm fine.

I'll be fine.

I just need to get warm.

You want some stew, O.B.?

Stew?

Later.

Oh, yeah.

That's nice.

So...

how you doing, Black Major?

I ain't in the mood, Chris Mannix.

Leave me be from your horseshit.

John Ruth says you got a Lincoln letter.

I told you, jackass, go hee-haw someplace else.

That's right, John.

You did say that, didn't you?

Yeah. I did.

So...

you got a letter from Abraham Lincoln?

Yes.

The... Abraham Lincoln?

Yes.

Abraham Lincoln?

The president of the United States?

Yes.

Of America?

Yes.

Wrote you a letter, personally?

Yes.

Personally, as in "Dear Major Warren"?

No, personally, as in "Dear Marquis."

"Dear Marquis"?

Abraham Lincoln,

the president of the United States of America?

Yes.

May I see it?

No, you may not.

But the way John tells it,

you weren't just some random nigger soldier

picked from a pile of letters.

Way John tells it...

y'all had a correspondence.

Yes.

The way John tells it...

y'all was practically pen pals.

Yes.

And a pen pal's...

practically a friend.

John Ruth...

you really think a nigger,

drummed out of the cavalry with a yellow stripe down his back,

was practically friends

with the president of the United States of America?

John Ruth, I hate to be the one to break it to you,

but ain't nobody in Minnie's Haberdashery ever corresponded

with Abraham Lincoln.

Least of all that nigger there!

Was all that horseshit?

Course it was.

Good one, Warren!

Talk that sass, nigger!

Talk that sass!

Well, I guess it's true what they say about you people.

Can't trust a fuckin' word comes out of your mouth.

What's the matter, John Ruth?

I hurt your feelings?

As a matter of fact, you did.

I-I know...

I'm the only black son of a bitch you ever conversed with,

so I'm gonna cut you some slack.

But you got no idea what it's like

being a black man facin' down America.

Only time black folks is safe

is when white folks is disarmed.

And this letter had the desired effect

of disarmin' white folks.

Call it what you want.

I call it a dirty fuckin' trick.

You want to know why I lie

about somethin' like that, white man?

Got me on that stagecoach, didn't it?

Well, I'll tell you like the good Lord told John.

A letter from Abraham Lincoln wouldn't have had

that kind of effect on me.

I might let a whore piss on it.

- I'll spit on it. - Good for you, sister!

Warren.

Goddamn it, you leave that old man alone.

Stand down, you son of a bitch.

I shared a battlefield with this man.

Or would you deny me that, too?

I suppose you were there.

May I join you?

Yes, you may.

Damn it.

So, how's life since the war?

Got both my legs.

Both my arms.

I can't complain.

Got a woman?

Fever took her start of this last winter.

Mm.

What was her name?

Betsy.

Georgia gal?

Augusta.

Atlanta boy, Augusta girl.

I used to raise Kentucky horses.

And her pa was the owner of the breedership

where I bought most of my ponies.

Goddamn it.

I made a good deal on her.

Took the stake he gave me

and bought a bunch of peach orchards.

Set myself up pretty well.

Did a hell of a lot better

than either one of my no-good brothers, that's for damn sure.

Hmm.

Yeah, your boy come up here a few years back.

He spoke highly of his mama, too.

You knew my boy?

Did I know him?

Yep.

Yeah, I knew him.

You did not know my boy.

Suit yourself.

Did you know my son?

I know the day he died.

- Do you? - No.

Do you want to know what day that was?

Yes.

The day he met me.

He come up here

to do a little nigger head-huntin'.

By then, the reward was, oh...

$5,000 and braggin' rights.

But to battle-hard rebs,

$5,000 just to cut off a nigger's head?

That's good money.

So them Johnnies climbed this mountain,

lookin' for fortune.

There wasn't no fortune to be found.

All they found...

was me.

All them crackers come up here sang a different tune

when they found theyself at the mercy of a nigger's gun.

"Let's just forget it.

I'll go my way, you go your'n."

That's your boy Chester talkin'.

You're a goddamn lie!

"If you just let me go home to my family, I swear

I'll never set foot in Wyoming again."

That's what they all said.

Beggin' for his life...

your boy told me his whole life story.

And you...

was in that story, General.

And when I knew me I had the son

of the Bloody Nigger Killer of Baton Rouge...

I knew me I was gonna have some fun.

You shut your lyin' nigger lips up!

General Smithers, don't you listen to him.

He didn't know your boy.

He just heard tell why you're here, is all.

It was cold the day I killed your boy.

And I don't mean

snowy-mountain-Wyoming cold, mm-mm.

It was colder than that.

And on that cold day, with your boy

at the business end of my gun barrel,

I made him strip...

right down to his bare ass.

Then I told him to start walkin'.

I walked his naked ass for two hours

'fore the cold collapsed him.

You never even knew my boy?

No, he didn't!

He's just a sneaky nigger

trying to get you to go for that gun.

Then... he commenced to beggin' again.

But this time, he wasn't beggin' to go home.

Ah, he knew he'd never see his home again.

He wasn't beggin' for his life neither,

'cause he knew that was long gone.

All he wanted...

was a blanket.

Now, don't judge your boy too harshly, General.

You ain't never been cold as your boy was that day.

You'd be surprised

what a man that cold would do for a blanket.

You want to know what your boy did?

I pulled my big black pecker out of my pants...

and I made him crawl through the snow

on all fours over to it.

Then I grabbed me a handful of that black hair

at the back of his head...

and I stuck my big black johnson

right down his goddamn throat.

And it was full of blood, so it was warm.

Oh, you bet your sweet ass it was warm.

And Chester Charles Smithers

sucked on that warm black dingus

for long as he could!

You're startin' to see pictures, ain't ya?

Your boy...

black dude's dingus in his mouth...

him sh-shakin', him cryin',

me laughin'...

...and him not understandin'.

But you understand, don't you, Sandy?

I never did give your boy that blanket...

even after all he did.

And he did everything I asked.

No blanket.

That blanket was just a heart-breakin' liar's promise.

Kinda like those uniforms

the Union issued those colored troops

that you chose not to acknowledge.

So what you gonna do, old man? Hmm?

You gonna spend the next two, three days

ignorin' the nigger that killed your boy?

Ignorin' how I made him suffer?

Ignoring how I made him...

lick... all over my johnson?

Oh, the dumbest thing your boy ever did

was to let me know...

he was your boy.

About 15 minutes has past

since we last left our characters.

Joe Gage volunteered to take Smithers' dead body outside.

Straws were drawn to see who'd help him.

O.B. lost.

Chris, John Ruth and Oswaldo had a vigorous debate

about the legality of the self-defense murder

that just transpired.

Major Marquis Warren, who was supremely confident

about the legality of what just transpired,

ignored them, sat at the table by himself

and drank brandy.

Captain Chris Mannix donned the dead general's coat

and joined Oswaldo in lighting the candles and lanterns.

Hey, Ozzie!

Now, you got the right idea.

Let's light this place up.

John Ruth held the door closed,

waiting for Joe Gage and O.B. to return.

Bob enjoyed a Manzana Roja.

Domergue, however, hasn't moved from her spot

at the community dinner table since John Ruth uncuffed her.

John Ruth.

Yeah.

Can I play that guitar over there?

Let's go back a bit.

Your boy, black dude's dingus in his mouth...

15 minutes ago, Major Warren

shot General Smithers in front of everybody.

But about 40 seconds before that,

something equally as important happened,

but not everybody saw it.

While Major Warren was captivating the crowd

with tales of black dicks in white mouths,

somebody... poisoned the coffee.

He did everything I asked.

No blanket.

And the only one to see him do it...

...was Domergue.

That's why this is called

"Domergue's Got a Secret."

John Ruth.

Yeah.

Can I play that guitar over there?

Yeah.

You come back with anything else but a guitar,

my pistol plays a tune.

"Domergue's Death March."

You got it?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.

♪ Listen for a moment, lads ♪

♪ And hear me tell my tale ♪

♪ O'er the sea from England shore ♪

♪ I was condemned to sail ♪

♪ Jury found me guilty, sir ♪

♪ And said the judge, said he ♪

♪ For life, Jim Jones, I sentence you ♪

♪ Across the stormy sea ♪

♪ Have no chance of mischief there ♪

♪ Remember what I say ♪

♪ They'll flog the poaching out of you ♪

♪ Out there in Botany Bay ♪

♪ Waves were high upon the sea ♪

♪ The winds approaching gales ♪

♪ I'd rather drowned in misery ♪

♪ Than come to New South Wales ♪

♪ The waves were high upon the sea ♪

♪ When the pirates came along ♪

♪ But the soldiers on our convict ship ♪

♪ Were full 500 strong ♪

♪ They opened fire and somehow drove ♪

♪ That pirate ship away ♪

♪ I'd rather join that pirate ship ♪

♪ Than gone to Botany Bay ♪

♪ And one dark night ♪

♪ When everything is quiet in the town ♪

♪ I'll kill you bastards one and all ♪

♪ I'll gun the floggers down ♪

♪ Give them all a little shock ♪

♪ Remember what I say ♪

♪ Yet regret they sent Jim Jones ♪

♪ In chains to Botany Bay. ♪

That's the one you like to sing in the stagecoach, huh?

Yeah.

It's kinda pretty.

Got another verse to it?

Yeah, lots.

Well, go ahead, sing it.

Whatever you say, John.

♪ Now day and night the irons clang ♪

♪ And like poor galley slaves ♪

♪ We toil and toil and when we die ♪

♪ Must fill dishonored graves ♪

♪ By and by I'll break my chains ♪

♪ And to the bush I'll go ♪

♪ And you'll be dead behind me, John ♪

♪ When I get to Mexico. ♪

Give me that guitar.

Music time's over!

Wha... Hey!

Whoa! Whoa, whoa!

Whoa!

Turn around!

John, no!

- No, no, no, no, no! - Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah!

Shut up!

When you get to hell, John,

tell 'em Daisy sent ya.

Mannix, the coffee!

Oh, my God!

Oh! Aah!

Give me that fucking gun.

Don't test me, bitch.

Everybody!

Get your backsides up

against that back wall over yonder.

Well, goddamn it!

Get or don't get, Joe Gage.

It's up to you.

- I'm gettin'. - Then get.

You, too, Señor Bob.

Everybody turn around

and put your hands on that wall.

Move them damn snowshoes!

Everybody keep your mouths shut.

Do like I say.

You open your mouth, you gonna get a bullet.

Move a little sudden, a little strange,

you gonna get a bullet.

Not a warnin', not a question.

A bullet.

You got that?

Let me hear you say, "I got it!"

- I got it. - I got it.

I got it.

We have it.

Chris Mannix, come over here on this side.

Come on.

Take this gun out my holster.

Point it at them.

Now, like I said, anybody does anything,

and I mean anything, you kill 'em.

So...

you finally decided I'm tellin' the truth

about bein' the sheriff of Red Rock, huh?

I don't know about all that.

But I know you ain't the killer poisoned that coffee,

'cause you almost drunk it your own damn self.

One of them is.

Aah!

Ow!

Give me the key. Give me the key!

You motherfucking black bastard!

You're gonna die on this mountain,

and I'm gonna fucking laugh when you do!

What'd I say 'bout talkin'?!

Bastard.

Meant it, didn't I?!

And you need to understand

you just killed the only man here

committed to gettin' you to Red Rock alive.

Now, one of y'all...

is workin' with her.

Or two of y'all is workin' with her.

Or all y'all is.

But only one of you poisoned the coffee.

Now, what charms this bitch got make a man brave a blizzard,

kill in cold blood?

I'm sure I don't know.

But John Ruth's tryin' to hang your woman.

So you kill him.

Okay.

Maybe.

But O.B. wasn't hangin' nobody.

He damn sure wasn't.

But he sure enough layin' over there dead

now, though, ain't he?

He damn sure is, you sons of bitches.

Just like any one of us would've drunk that coffee.

Like me, goddamn it.

Now, those of y'all with your hands on the wall

don't practice in poison need to think about that.

Think about how it could've been you

rollin' around here on this floor.

And how the man standin' next to you

would be responsible.

And I know who I got my money on.

Oh, that's right, Joe Gage.

I'm lookin' at you.

Not so fast, Chris.

We'll get there.

Let's slow it down.

Let's slow it way down.

Who made the coffee?

He did.

Yeah, he did, didn't he?

Yeah, he did, didn't he?

Now, why is The Hangman, who got nothing on his mind

'cept getting this gal to the gallows,

brewing the coffee in Minnie's Haberdashery?

Because his coffee was dreadful.

Is that right?

Well, ain't that interesting.

Well, you didn't have any of my coffee, bounty hunter,

so don't be so sure about what this little man says.

I had some of his coffee.

Wasn't the best coffee I ever drank, but...

wasn't nothing wrong with it.

Well, if you want me to make a pot of coffee,

all you have to do is ask.

Maybe. Maybe.

But it's the stew that's got me thinkin'.

Now, how long you said Minnie been gone?

A week?

Sí.

See...

my mama used to make stew,

and it always tasted the same, no matter the meat.

And there was another fellow on the plantation,

Uncle Charly.

He made stew, too.

And like my mama,

I ate his stew from the time I was a whipper

till I was a full-grown man.

No matter the meat,

it always tasted like Uncle Charly's stew.

Now, I ain't had Minnie's stew in six months,

so I ain't no expert, but that...

damn sure is Minnie's stew.

So if Minnie is on the north side

visitin' her mama for a week,

how she make the stew this mornin'?

Hmm.

And this...

this is Sweet Dave's chair.

When I sat in it earlier,

I couldn't believe it.

Nobody sits in Sweet Dave's chair.

Uh, this may be Minnie's place,

but this is damn sure Sweet Dave's chair.

And if he went to the north side...

...I'm pretty goddamn sure this chair be goin' with him.

What's in the chair?

Just what I thought.

Sweet Dave's goddamn blood.

Hoo!

Hoo-hoo-hoo!

So, are you actually accusing me of murder?

Way I see it, Señor Bob,

is whoever is workin' with her ain't who they say they is.

And if it's you,

that means Minnie and her man ain't at her mama's.

They layin' out back there dead somewhere.

Or if it's you, little British man,

the real Oswaldo Mobray layin' in a ditch somewhere

and you just a English fella passin' off his papers.

Or we go by my theory,

which is the ugliest guy did it.

Which makes it you, Joe Gage.

So I take it you deduced the coffee was poisoned

while you were murdering the old man?

Yes.

Well, mi negro amigo,

during that whole incident,

I was sitting on that side of the room

playing "Silent Night" on the piano.

Oh, I ain't say you poisoned the coffee.

I said you didn't make the stew.

My theory is...

you workin' with the man who poisoned the coffee,

and both of y'all murdered Minnie,

Sweet Dave and whoever else picked this bad-luck day

to visit Minnie's Haberdashery this mornin'.

And at some point,

y'all intended to bushwhack John Ruth

and free Daisy.

But you didn't count on the blizzard,

and you didn't count on the two of us.

Hmm.

That's far as I got. How am I doing?

You're a real imaginative nigger,

ain't you?

So, do you intend to murder me

based on a far-fetched nigger theory,

or can you prove it, cabrón?

It ain't so far-fetched, Señor Bob.

And it's a little bit more than a theory.

How long you say you been workin' for Minnie?

Four months.

Mm. See, if you'd have been here two and a half years ago,

you'd know 'bout that sign used to hang up over the bar.

Minnie mention that to you?

No.

You want to know what that sign said, Señor Bob?

"No dogs or Mexicans allowed."

Now, Minnie hung that sign up

the day she opened this haberdashery.

And it hung over that bar every day

till she took it down a little over two years ago.

You know why she took it down?

She started lettin' in dogs.

Now, Minnie liked just about everybody,

but she sure don't like Mexicans.

So when you tell me

Minnie went to the north side to visit her mama,

well, I find that highly unlikely.

But okay, maybe.

But when you tell me

Minnie Mink took the haberdashery,

the most precious thing to her in the whole world,

and left it in the hands of a goddamn Mexican?

Well, that's what I meant in the barn

when I said that sure don't sound like Minnie.

Now I am calling you a liar, Señor Bob.

And if you lyin', which you are...

...then you killed Minnie.

And Sweet Dave.

Four measly bullets,

and there goes Señor Bob.

But that still don't get us no closer

to which one of y'all poisoned the coffee, though.

Do it, Chris?

No, it sure don't.

Now, one of y'all poisoned this coffee to free Daisy.

If I don't hear a confession

from one of you motherfuckers quick, fast and in a hurry,

I'm gonna pour this whole pot of coffee

down that bitch's goddamn throat.

Okay. Time's up.

Stop!

All right, I did it.

It was me. I poisoned the coffee.

I fuckin' knew it!

Oh!

You gonna die now, you murderin' bastard!

Major Warren, please let me send this ugly

son of a bitch to hell.

You killed O.B.

He was worth ten of you.

Warren, can I kill him?

Say adios to your huevos.

Major Warren!

I ain't got no gun, Sheriff.