Original subtitles

Fuckin' postal contract.

Got to bring these in first thing.

I'll be right with you.

Is he only a goddamn fool

or so stupid he thinks he's accomplished something?

- Who? - You know goddamn well who I mean.

- Who are you? - You goddamn well know that too.

I know from the sheriff locking you up

between sundown when I left and my coming back now,

you must have fucked up at the interval.

- Were you drunk? - You and I have met.

- At the hotel buffet. - Yes.

But we wasn't introduced.

I'm George Hearst.

Were you drunk, George Hearst?

This fellow didn't keep you up here, did he?

He didn't like fart or snore too much for you, did he, Mr. Hearst?

I mean, he imbi...

Holy shit!

Jesus! The cocksucker's dead, George!

Look, he's got a fuckin' knife in his chest.

That ain't your fuckin' knife, is it, George Hearst?

Goddamn fool.

Won't be the first the worms work on.

I guess he deserves more than a dirt burying by some stranger,

even for only how big

a fuckin' nigger he was.

Don't know if using this trough was that big a fuckin' time saver.

I'll see to the burying with you.

I owe a visit up there anyways.

That ain't gonna raise your popularity with your fellow white people.

Question I wake to in the morning and pass out with at night:

"What's my popularity with my fellow white people?"

I suppose we ought to go get him. He ain't fuckin' pretty to look at.

Neither are you, fuckin' Nigger General.

After that I arrested Hearst.

Took him by the ear and led him to jail, where he remains.

Hearst had no particular connection to Mr. Hostetler?

Both their names begin with H.

It's gonna get bad here, Martha.

It's Albert Swearengen, regrettin' the early hour and...

that I call without notice...

Good morning. Come in.

...knowing I intrude.

- Mrs. Bullock. - Good morning, Mr. Swearengen.

Will you have meat and eggs?

- I'd be grateful for coffee. - Please sit down.

Swell, stem to stern... the place.

If you will not eat, will you excuse me?

- Teaches the camp's children. - Excellent.

- I'll walk you when you're ready. - There's no burning rush.

I'm sure the talk Mr. Swearengen would have with you must be important.

Last night from my balcony vantage,

I watched you drag Hearst by the ear to Utter's freight office.

I was awaitin' you comin' out of Utter's, thinking that you might

make a call on me, tell me what the fuck was going forward,

but you did not appear. I finally asked myself,

"Could our sheriff have took another route home,

maybe through Chinaman's Alley?

And what would that bespeak of his frame of mind?"

It bespoke I didn't fuckin' feel like talking to you.

"Al, busy night, short on joy."

Could have told me that. "Let's talk another time."

I too, Bullock, when suspecting I've fucked the dog,

keenly seek some solitude.

Our hour is wrong.

Having lost his man Turner, being embarrassed by you,

Hearst will be on the muscle. And we who will be

his wrath's object ought to stay close and confide.

Our alternative is flight.

- Does that appeal? - No.

We ain't that sort, which is maybe more the pity.

- Walk me to school now, Mr. Bullock? - Yes.

- Thank you for the coffee. - You're very welcome, Mr. Swearengen.

- Owie. - Well, Sofia...

- we're almost through. - It's cold.

The fire's gone out.

Mr. Ellsworth left for the diggings early this morning.

He didn't come to kiss me good night.

- You must not have wakened. - I always waken from his beard.

Well, last night you must not have.

There. You look more than presentable.

Excuse me just a moment, and then I'll take you to school.

Mornin', Dan.

Jewel, you got you another customer!

Just brought me mine.

How do you... how do you feel?

You go ahead and drink that. That's at least my third damn cup.

I'm jangle-nerved already.

Let me go on and get shaky-handed,

pop my foot on the floor like I'm a-listenin' to banjo music!

Shhh.

- Al's out. - Out where?

Well, I don't know.

But I bet you a nickel it has somethin' to do with Bullock takin' Hearst by the ear

from Tolliver's to Utter's depot.

What the fuck are you talkin' about?

Anyways, here's Jewel.

We had been at odds but settled,

Hostetler and me.

He'd sold me his livery,

and fixing to move to Oregon,

pickin' up his fuckin' shotgun, the Negro stumbled and...

blew his black head off!

God damn it, Harry.

And I fear no retribution, not by my own God...

or any other...

evil emissary's dispatch

from the bowels of the earth

by whatever bundle of bloody

fuckin' feathers and housecat teeth

the nigger race bows down to.

My hands are fuckin' clean,

and my heart is quiet.

Oh, Christ.

Harry?

Hurry up, Richardson.

Thwart that Abyssinian.

I don't know what you mean.

Any thought he has of registerin'.

Bad enough we have one in help.

- Hello. - Hello.

- We can't take you. - My baby!

Ooh!

- Ooh! - Your baby's growed, Mama.

Oh, come on, come on.

Come around back. We'll get you into my room.

You're so beautiful! Oh!

Did you hear, Richardson?

- "Beautiful." - Yes.

You make clear to Tolliver you will not confide entirety

and that he oughtn't to expect you ever fuckin' will

is the basic foundation attitude.

- Am I fuckin' boring you?! - No.

Hmm? Sure you don't want to tell me a joke or the like,

- or dance a quick fuckin' jig? - I tell Tolliver I'm still your man

and I'll never show him your fuckin' hole card.

Guy like Tolliver always believes he can see what you want not to show him.

I'm tryin' not to show your hole card.

- That's your fuckin' act. - So what do I say about Bullock?

"I know why Bullock acted,

but I'm not prepared to say. That's confidential and privileged

between me and Mr. Swearengen, who explained to me exactly."

What'll Tolliver think off that?

"This kid don't know what the fuck Bullock's doin' and Swearengen don't either.

But I, Cy Tolliver, wormed that the fuck out of him, even though he tried not to let me.

I can handle this fuckin' piss-pot."

Fold your thumb, go over and fuckin' talk to him.

When you're done woolgathering, I'd like this sent.

How are you today?

Well enough, Mr. Hearst.

And you?

Well enough.

What do say of me in your paper?

I have nothing to report, sir.

- Have you anything to give me? - I have not.

$1 .25, please.

25¢ increase to our rate.

Damn pleased we got to speak, Adams.

Al chose well making you his fuckin' ambassador.

Far as him grabbin' Hearst by the ear, how that affects yours and Mr. Swearengen's

- arrangements with Hearst... - Fuckin' Bullock.

...Al's got specific ideas on that. As soon as he's sure he wouldn't

be unintentionally misleadin' you, he'll want me to confide 'em in detail.

Why don't you cap your visit with some complimentary higher-end pussy?

- Thanks anyway. - You know Leon here.

Why don't you teach him somethin' about craps?

Soon as I finish showin' water how to run downhill.

He'd have me a cur to paw through the scraps his fuckin' flunky tosses.

That Swearengen.

When here, Leon,

telling me about the hobby you and Mrs. Ellsworth share,

you walk me in Mr. Hearst's front door

and sit me the fuck down across from him at his fuckin' table.

- God bless you, boy. - Thanks, Mr. Tolliver.

I'm going to the hardware store, Charlie.

I hope so.

A little early to start drinkin'.

Thought I'd stick around with you.

- Morning, Charlie. - Mornin'.

Busy night last night, I hear.

I recall my instructions to you as bein'

that anytime you and I meet, Swearengen's to be represented.

Heard and understood, Mr. Hearst.

And I hope correctly honored in the breach in this one single instance.

Make your case.

Not to read your mind,

but it seemed your idea for Swearengen and me

had to do with this newer phase we're movin' into...

camp's official business and the like.

Swearengen and me unofficially

seein' to your interests.

Because the small-mindedness and self-interested behavior

that's so pervasive in this shithole makes impossible

my efficient attention to the requirements of my operation.

Well, I can only imagine what that's like, sir.

Man who's accomplished what you have, havin' to move

among the low-rent cocksuckers and short-haulers...

Make your fuckin' case why you've gone against my instructions.

I come into a certain piece of knowledge, sir,

that could make this more or less a fuckin' company town.

And my thinking was if communicatin' this privately to Mr. Hearst

risks putting me and Al Swearengen the fuck out of action as middlemen,

so the fuck be it.

Suppose I could put the Ellsworth claim into play for you, Mr. Hearst?

- How? - The lady's reinvolved herself

with a habit turns a person's life upside down.

One of my own fuckin' employees supplies her,

God help me, and that's a habit, sir,

makes a person subject to accident and mischance of every fuckin' sort,

having to do especially with the ups and downs

of the fucking quality of the fucking shit she's being given.

I wish I'd heard this yesterday.

I'll confide that wantin'

to honor your instructions to the letter

cost me 24 hours before approaching you.

If I had, my instructions would have had to do

with bringing the inevitable about.

In the interval, I have suffered certain losses.

Oh, rest fucking Captain Turner's soul.

I'd be quiet now, Mr. Tolliver, if I were you.

Losses and indignities which,

despite the strong impulse of my nature toward simplicity,

prompt me to a different approach.

- Do you enjoy that, sir? - No, I don't.

- You don't enjoy that? - I don't, no.

And I wish you'd cut it the fuck out.

I not only spent last night incarcerated,

I was taken to jail by the ear.

That fuckin' maniac sheriff.

By our maniac sheriff, that's correct.

And had as a cellmate...

or to be fair in describing my situation,

cohabitated with in the adjacent cell a rotting corpse,

whom it was the deputy's pleasure this morning

to accuse me of having murdered.

I'm therefore distressed and angry

and I seem, for the moment, to be taking this out on your ear!

But in the longer term my intentions are other

and more complicated.

Can we pretend the longer term's arrived, sir?

I'd have you release me, for a fucking fact.

Sorry. Temper got the best of me.

Don't give it another thought, sir.

Don't kill her yet.

I took that as your meaning.

Oh, you think you can shine on me like the sun?

"Oh, Leon, you're a good guy.

You put me next to the bank lady.

You got a great fucking future at my side."

Oh, fuck you. Fuck you!

Don't you think I know the outcome of that?

Once the bank lady dies from the overdose,

if you've had a good fucking day, I get a quick one in the ear.

And of course if the day went bad,

first you carve on me for a fucking while.

Oh! Fuck you, rube!

You clean up? Your 83¢?

Or whatever you froze your balls for all day in the fucking streams!

Yeah, I'll get off right here if I want to.

Don't confuse me, Mr. T,

with having no cards up my sleeve.

This stalwart didn't raise no stupid sons.

Or that don't know... how to...

navigate a tight...

Morning, Mrs. Ellsworth.

- Morning. - Out for a smoke.

Fine, Trixie.

My Celestial ain't in position.

I ain't sure when he will be.

Maybe you need to make a different arrangement.

I wonder, Leon, if we don't now approach

a turn in our conversation...

having to do with increasing your fee.

If I was you, lady, instead of cracking fucking wise

I might be thinking of different ways of spending my idle time.

I can't help but noticing, your Celestial's not being in a position

isn't reflected in your condition.

Yeah? I'm high and planning to stay that way...

not to fucking mention alive.

That's the last you see of me.

Get the fuck out of here!

Leave her the fuck alone!

If you would take that out of my ear, I would be happy to know what you mean.

I mean, if you keep selling her dope, I will fucking kill you.

Fine, I agree. You have shown me the light.

I don't want to see her high again.

Only promise me this, you meddling cunt,

if you do, before you head out to kill me, you'll ask her where she got her stuff.

I am no longer the lady's supplier.

May I go?

I know.

- Do you? - Yes, your ladyship, I do.

And just heard from that shitbag Leon you've got a new supplier.

You are quite mistaken, Trixie,

and however well intended, beyond your proper province.

Fuck you, Mrs. Ellsworth.

I am in the process

of making adjustments to the... complications of my situation.

- Bullshit. - Do not take over-many liberties.

You've fallen back with a fucking child in your home.

I will no longer be requiring your services.

Alack for me.

How I'd hoped I could work here forever.

I give up music with my fucking.

I don't need any more friends than what I got.

And I give up

clocking that cocksucker upstairs.

An inscrutable figure... Mr. Hearst.

Now what I want you to know:

his first activities impinging on me I don't hear about beforehand from you,

- I'm gonna cut your fucking throat. - Goodness.

You see that 200 I've give you?

I do, yes, at the margin of vision.

That argues there's a better way.

Take the desk.

Liberia.

He mind me here 'fore his say-so?

How is he gonna mind you come see your mother?

Here in your room.

He give me this room. "You stay here, Aunt Lou.

Who says what, no goddamn never mind to me."

That's good then.

Well well well.

You've company in your room, Aunt Lou.

My boy, Mr. Hearst,

- my boy Odell. - Your boy?

- How do you do, Odell? - How do you do, sir?

Where have you been, Mr. Hearst?

Let me fix you up some breakfast.

You made yourself at home, Odell,

here in the room I set aside for your mother.

I asked him in, yes, sir.

Yes, sir, that was me asked him in.

Well, now that your mama has invited you in,

I suppose we might say on the spur of the moment,

I hope that you'll accept my invitation as well

as the hotel's owner

and your mother's employer.

Please, Odell, won't you stay?

I will, sir. Thank you. Thank you for your kindness.

Not hungry just now, Aunt Lou.

Here, Al, is your answer.

Nor would 10 times the sum have tempted me.

- Should have known. - You confirm my judgment then...

- you were the money's source. - As it happens, EB, I was not.

I see.

In that case

you may view my behavior

as a random display of loyalty.

Explaining yourself offers a better chance of getting it back.

That money, Al, came from Tolliver,

seeking knowledge, as he claimed,

of such of Hearst's activities as I,

operating the man's hotel, might come into.

How could I not believe it was you

orchestrating the approach as some form of test?

The alternative would have Tolliver,

knowing my history with you, believing nonetheless

that he could approach me,

swaying my loyalty as if I had no morals more than a street whore.

Ain't to Tolliver's standard, the baldness of it.

My thinking exactly.

The lack of prelude or prologue.

It's Hearst...

Hearst, is he Caesar,

to have fights to the death for diversion?

Murder his workers at whim?

Smash passages in the fucking wall?

A man of less wealth would be in fucking restraints.

We're in the presence of the new.

Fuck the fucking new!

Jesus Christ, Al.

- Is it over for us here? - Go back to the hotel, EB.

Save us. Think of something.

Have I ever not?

We'll discuss that money another time.

- There's leaving the camp. - No.

No, I...

no.

One thing... if he knew it was coming,

Bill was not shy of drawing first.

Seth locked up Hearst instead of that.

Oh, I get it.

Wh-what does that mean?

It means, Mr. Star,

after leading him by the ear through camp for all to fucking see,

Seth installs Hearst in a cell

adjoining a man he's had killed,

that the knife still protrudes out of his chest.

And much as me and Hearst conversed,

I made him address my ass.

So do let's don't pretend

Hearst will feel he was treated legal or-or civilized,

or that his business with us is finished.

Hearst is fucking coming.

Bringing us back to Bill

and doing unto others first.

Which ought maybe include

a visit to Hearst's fucking diggings.

And his muscle you fail to murder before they arouse?

You bring to chase you to camp...

Judas goat the cocksuckers...

for Swearengen's men and Tolliver's to mow down from fucking ambush

while we're up seeing to Hearst.

There'll be nothing left of the camp.

How much you figure will stand

once Hearst had his fucking say?

Truth is if I, on Tolliver's instructions,

provide an overdose Mrs. Ellsworth dies from,

for being able to say he told me to,

who does he fucking croak next?

You are lethally fucking middled.

So she says, "No no, I want five oxen

and one chicken."

- Rube fucking humor. - Mr. Tolliver.

Come with me, Leon.

Let Con calm down.

Hold off.

- Hold off? - Hold the fuck off.

Don't fucking step up the purity.

Just keep selling her what you've been fucking selling.

It's a wise man that knows his own limits. Now go ahead out there, son,

and continue doing wrong.

Yes, sir, Mr. Tolliver.

Cocksucker.

- Everything all right? - Leave me alone!

Ooh.

I wouldn't mind turning a fucking trick.

Get the fuck

out of here!

We ain't hiring.

Fuck you anyways, Al, for not recognizing a figure of speech.

It ain't one you ought to employ, you stupid bitch.

I made a casual remark, an off-handed comment.

I wouldn't mind turning a fucking trick.

Operate out of the back of his store then, you're so set on lifting your skirts.

Let some fuck filthy from the mines,

breath rotten from his broken teeth,

piss-reeking, shit-stinking fuck every hole in your body.

What's the matter with you?

I lose patience with cunts too ignorant to know

when their lot's improved.

- She's using again. - Who do we speak of now?

The fucking Mrs. Ellsworth. And I told her I knew

and that she'd ruin her child and that I quit her stupid job.

If that don't straighten her out, I don't know fucking what.

What was I supposed to do then?

Look after your fucking self, you loopy cunt.

Now get the fuck out of here!

Hello.

Hello.

I thought you'd be at the bank.

I came away without something.

You might hurry not to make Sofia tardy.

- Where did you stay? - At the diggings.

Was Sofia upset?

As you may imagine.

May I appeal to you to reconsider?

I needn't be your husband

to be what father to Sofia I can.

I care for you a great deal.

An arrangement like ours

wouldn't get anymore tolerable to you.

And I couldn't bear it,

seeing what you'd do to yourself.

You'll straighten around if I go.

I can't help noticing in you just now, Mr. Blazanov, uh...

- I'm sad. - I see.

I imagine

my murdered parents.

They were killed on their farm

while I was a student in Petersburg.

I imagine their bodies

like the man we found on our walking.

We are swept up,

are we not, by the large events

and forces of our times?

How much they saved...

to send me for study.

I'm gonna go ahead and try this cobbler.

Don't think I didn't notice you hadn't tried it yet.

Oh, that's delicious!

And praise God, how fast the mails must be getting to be.

'Cause it ain't a month since I wrote.

27 days.

I keep track when I send you my letters

so I know when to hope for one back.

And him sending for me to come here,

it's 27 days since I wrote to tell you that.

And I just can't feature,

Odell, all that way in Liberia,

you could have gotten my letter

that took the time it took to get to you

and then you take passage to come back here to America,

and got from New York City to hell and gone out here

all in 27 days.

I can't feature it's possible.

Whoo, praise God, praise God!

Well, Mama,

maybe I set out without having the letter.

But then you couldn't have known I was here.

Couldn't have knowed it proved, you mean.

Would've had to took it on faith,

reading in the newspaper

that he was here in this place,

you would be too.

Decided it was time.

There you are.

- Here we are. - Odell.

I had thought to find you inside.

I hope you don't take me for ungrateful.

I have an inkling you're wise, Odell.

I've gotten used to being outdoors,

all that time at the site of the find.

What find do you refer to, son?

Liberia, sir. The gold.

Invite you now to sit down with him to eat...

"Sit across from me and have dinner, Odell."

...that before you said gold,

fire's in his eyes you was anyplace indoors at all.

Gold seemed to change his mind.

Don't you want to say "Yes, ma'am" or "Yes, Mama" before that or after, Odell,

so my heart feels how sweet you are?

No, ma'am.

Make me know you sweet,

God-fearing and truthful like I wanted my boy to be.

Back from where you send him,

raising up to a man,

safe amongst his own.

Liberia... free.

Free? Shit.

Don't you speak to me thatta way!

- What way, Mama? - Use language like that to me!

No kinda truth? Yes, ma'am.

Liberia free.

Praise Jesus.

Here come the Spirit over me.

Don't you take Him in vain. Don't you dare to do it!

All right, Mama,

all right.

What was the truth of it then?

Liberia?

No field work... African niggers for that.

Now they lazy and stupid, Mama.

American niggers steal off the African,

till the English cheat us out of it.

Hot till you can't breathe.

Nothing ever be dry. Hate the air.

Hate the breathing in and out.

Liberia.

Is there gold, Odell?

A rich find, Mama. Rich.

Praise God.

He give His son for our sins

and Mr. Hearst to help us.

Where are you going, boy?

Find a place where a nigger can have a drink,

before he sits down with Mr. Hearst.

Putting that dead one's kidneys up his nose,

however the fuck else they summon up their demons.

Beat thigh bones on tin pans.

Shake and rattle and hop the fuck around.

Another?

Am I swine, Harry,

that in an otherwise empty joint

the owner must make a show of relocating

further away from me?

Maybe it's you being present keeps away the broader clientele.

And maybe, Tom,

it's the chill in here is what does it,

when every edifice else in camp's

been swanked up and seen to.

Look inward, why don't you?

Instead of always blaming the other.

Welcome to the No. 10. My name is Tom.

Harry'll take your order.

His name is Steve.

Whiskey.

Afternoon.

Where is my dinner companion?

I don't know where that boy's got to, sir.

I guess we all have different ideas, Aunt Lou,

of what constitutes punctuality.

Guess everybody do about everything, sir.

Look like more and more that's true.

- Why don't I go find him? - You don't believe he's forgotten?

I don't know no more, sir. Let me just get past you.

What if he returns and you're still gone? Who'll serve dinner?

I'm getting past you Mr. Hearst, please do excuse.

Where is the livery at?

I'm not assuming you know left from right,

or I'd have spoken.

I've never done that sober in my life.

Pissed yourself?

And if account of the mishap circulates, I will know the fucking source.

Who could I tell?

I'd have never known it had happened if you hadn't started screaming about it.

Pissing yourself at the grave of your best friend

and most admired person you've ever known,

that ain't cause for fucking dismay?

Bible instructs us

when two of different races return from a graveyard together,

the event should be marked with liquor.

Praise God! Thank you, Jesus.

I come looking for you,

that cooked for you and your friend as was strangers to me.

- What's your trouble? - Save my boy, sir,

that's past his mother's help.

Yeah.

- How are your spirits, chief? - All right.

Do not bullshit me, Dan! The task I'd assign you is pivotal.

- I'm all right. - And leave the matter at that?

- What the fuck else you want me to say? - Nothing.

You gave me the basis to decide. I'm not fucking sending you anywhere.

Well, fuck where you were gonna send me!

And fuck the task you were gonna assign me to do!

And that confirms my opinion, that indifferent rejoinder.

I'm on the verge of striking you a fucking blow.

Oh, which I would be inclined to absorb as proof you'd passed the killing of that giant.

Which I have been waiting to hear you volunteer.

Then why didn't you just ask me to volunteer it?

Because opinion solicited does not equal one freely voiced.

This is what I predicted to Johnny, virtually word for word.

- About what? - How you'd react to that killing.

"Dan, Johnny, does not like killing to end a fair fight."

"Oh, why, Al?" asked Johnny. "Because..." and I fucking have to explain to him,

"... it's more like a contest, Johnny, or the like, a bout."

Seeing a light go out of their eyes.

In the one you'd left in its socket.

Better in his one than the both of yours, hmm?

I'd have you go to Cheyenne

to see to the hiring of guns...

All right.

...wishing an alternative would come to me.

- Want me to go to Bismarck? - An alternative to the hiring of guns, Dan.

Yeah, Hearst's pockets are bigger than ours.

Being neighbor to his prick, which Bullock may as well have belittled

when grabbing him by his fucking ear.

Do you feature the Nigger General getting my boy to take that money?

No man better for the task.

That little Nigger General has a gift.

Gets you to an attitude he'd have you

and goes about his business.

Leaves you to stand in wonderment.

"What happened to change my mood?"

or change my opinion or decision,

take money maybe I never featured I would,

come fire or flood or the like.

That's the little Nigger General all over.

I pray Jesus you're right.

Oh, having no pull in that quarter,

I'm tolerable confident I am.

Could I have a swig?

Now that is the first giant step

towards long-term understanding and friendship.

Do not employ a mug

lest next we'd be donning white gloves.

All right then.

Yes yes yes.

Yeah, there's a new house policy now at the No. 10 Saloon:

anyone at all can drink or move in and take up residence,

for all the fuck the policy cares.

Ain't meaning to be here long. Ain't looking to drink.

All's I'm here for, Steve,

is to talk to this here gentleman.

Go ahead and do somersaults

or peel bananas with each other for all I give a fuck.

The whole place has gone to shit anyhow.

- What could we have to talk about? - Your mama did me a kindness

and she asked me to talk to you.

I guess I also got to tell you that she give me $742

to give to you if you just get the hell out of camp.

- What's your name? - Nigger General Samuel Fields.

Now my plan... I got 1200 left to me by a tall nigger

who, after he sold his fucking livery to Steve there,

blew his fucking head off...

past that $742 in my pocket that I'm trying to give you,

my plan is get to San Francisco,

buy enough white pussy to stretch from the harbor

to the closest rooming house that'll have me

and then fuck my way to the Pacific Ocean.

She said that she sent you away.

Mmm, not far.

- Fucking Africa. - Damn.

- What'd you say made her mad? - Called her Mama.

So now you want to run a little something on her boss,

which would be a waste of that high yellow skin, Odell.

We done talking, Samuel.

All yours.

The nigger I appointed to dine with does not appear.

As well,

since his mother's not here to serve us.

- What do you know of last night? - My stomach hurt.

I was discomfited otherwise.

Stupid, aren't you?

Yes, sir.

Better than what some of these others are.

This place displeases me. I'm taking measures to bring it down.

All right.

Does he speak of the hotel?

Or even more?

That they're armed and awake

don't have to mean they're fucking hired.

Yeah, and when I feel a shit coming on I'll remember to drop my pants.

The obvious merits utterance.

Character is fucking pertinent.

If I'm to go, I'd as soon get started before the darkness.

Going means the darkness is upon us.

Bullock.

Could him and me talk?

Sure. Converse amongst yourselves.

Charlie Utter thinks it has to come to blood.

Charlie Utter's likely right.

And if it has to, that we should strike first.

Believe me, even now

in the forest, the blade would be between my teeth,

me and you making our way stealthily forward.

And as to us and him,

if blood's what it finally comes to, 100 years from now

the forest is what they'll find here.

Dewy morning's lost its appeal for me.

I prefer to wake indoors.

Dan! You don't travel tonight.

Come. In need of canned peaches, Johnny.

Let's collect the camp elders.

Be baffled among friends, huh?

I tried, Miss Lady.

No.

No no.

Gentlemen.

Mr. Hearst.

Odell!

Odell!

Hello, Mr. Hearst.

- Who's the new nigger? - Fucking late, son.

Awful sorry, sir.

- Your mama's tardy as well. - Is that so?

That's all right, we'll await her speaking of gold.

Oh, that'd be just wonderful, sir.

- How's the finger? - All right, Mr. Hearst.

How's the fucking ear?

Good, Bullock, good.

By dissembling our feelings we keep the strategic edge.

You don't get him. You don't take him from me.

Oh no. You don't get him. You don't take him from me.

Not quick, but she does seem full of purpose.

People are fucking people,

and that is fucked up!

You don't know what the fuck I'm talking about,

'cause you don't know people.

I...

I know people

and I know the way they fucking operate.

Who are you talking to, Jane?

What business or concern is that of yours?

I wondered where you were.

I'd hoped you come stay with me instead of going back to all this.

Whatever you mean by this,

I have been recently engaged

in complicated negotiations with niggers...

who equal any other creature walking upright

being able to fuck themselves up.

I got myself a room at Shaunessey's.

The offer still stands, Jane. I'd really like it if you'd come stay with me.

I am a creature of habit and routine.

And I am a creature of difficulty falling asleep.

If I don't mind pissing myself to stay asleep,

I'm not likely to destroy

a habit of routine sleeping someplace completely elsewhere.

- Come on, Jane, we're going. - You ain't got the fucking manpower

- to pull my ass up. - Come on.

You're putting yourself

very much in danger, my friend.

Very very very

very very very much in danger.

That's all right, Jane.

Come on.

♪ Daniel in the lion den, oh ♪

♪ Daniel in the lion's den ♪

♪ Whoa, Daniel in the lion den ♪

♪ In the lion den, my Lord, now ♪

♪ Daniel in the lion den ♪

♪ Whoa, Daniel in the lion den ♪

♪ Well, Daniel in the lion den ♪

♪ He said now is the needed time ♪

♪ Oh, now is the needed time ♪

♪ Yes, now is the needed time ♪

♪ Needed time, my Lord, now ♪

♪ Now is the needed time ♪

♪ Oh, now is the needed time ♪

♪ Lord, now is the needed time ♪

♪ He said Daniel in the lion den ♪

♪ Well, Daniel in the lion den. ♪