Episode 21: “Amalgamation and Capital”
(Open in the Bullock house. Seth is in the kitchen as
William comes downstairs)
Seth: Good
morning, William.
William: Good
morning, Mr. Bullock.
Seth: Are
you sometimes permitted coffee?
William: Yes,
sir.
Seth: About
a third of a cup?
William: Completed
with cow’s milk.
Seth: As
to sugar, three spoons? (William nods, we
see Seth is near banking his head on the hanging lamp over the table) Is
this the morning, William, do you suppose, the tip of this lamp, like a Indian
spear, goes into the top of my head?
William: (chuckles) I don’t know, Sir. (Seth hands him his coffee, he tastes it.)
Seth: Does it
stand comparison with your mother’s?
William:
No, Sir. (Sets it down)
Seth: Stiffened
with a further lace of sugar?
William: I
mean that he would make it, Sir—my father would.
Seth: (pauses) Do
you have time to sit a bit?
William: I
suppose I might do, having chopped the kindling last evening.
(Seth motions to a chair, William and he sit as
Martha comes quietly down the stairs, pausing as she hears them talking.)
Seth: Why
don’t you tell me about your father, William?
I didn’t know my brother so well as you had a chance to. I was nine when Robert left our home. I think you knew him longer. You were 11.
William: I
knew him pretty well.
Seth: What
did he like doin’ best? (William pauses,
Martha sits quietly on the stairs, listening.)
William:
Sometimes he’d sing. Not army songs,
but other kinds. He would make mother
laugh. He made the best duck calls of
anyone. He would send away through the
wood, and he taught me comebacks, and feeder calls and hails.
(Charlie knocks on the door and opens it, nods to
Seth through the mudroom window. Seth nods back and turns back to William,
looks at the boy for a moment, and stands up.)
Seth: Mr.
Utter and I have some camp bidness to see to. (He walks to the mudroom to put on his coat.) William, are you a
good duck caller?
William: I
suppose I’m pretty good. I could show
you, Sir. (Martha comes down the stairs a
bit.)
Seth: I know of
some potholes over Belle Fourche way that are pretty good for ducks.
William:
All right, Sir. (Seth nods at William,
Martha continues quickly down the stairs.)
Martha: Goodbye,
Mr. Bullock.
(Seth looks at her, puts on his hat and leaves.)
(Al’s office,
he’s getting dressed. There’s a knock
at the door…)
EB: E.B.
Farnum, Al.
Al: Come
in, E.B.!
EB: (Opens the door, hissing in pain, touching
his jaw) I’ve been prostrated by the agonies of the damned.
Al: Judgment
is upon us then.
EB: A
molar rotted through.
Al:
Distressing me also, that you are my eyes and ears and a day as eventful as
yesterday should find you indisposed. (Sits)
EB: (sniffs-still holding his jaw) Some solace in knowing I’m missed. (Sitting, he takes his hat off)
Al: You missed
the advent of the fucking telegraph operator that had you steered into one of
your rooms, you could have kept tabs on henceforth.
EB: The
pain nearly killed me.
Al: As you
still breathe amongst us, I shall ask you to befriend this fuckin’ Russian.
EB: Russian?
Al: The
fucking telegraph operator, E.B., is a fuckin’ Russian.
EB: Of
course I’ll befriend him. I’m very fond
of Russians.
Al: And as
the trust between you deepens, we’ll be particularly interested in messages to
and from Yankton. (knocks at door) Yeah?
(Door opens)
Dan: Sorry,
E.B. (Holding a newspaper) Al, you might wanna take a gander at
that. (Sets the paper down in front of Al.)
Al: E.B. is
leaving. You won’t miss him. (Takes
something out of his drawer, E.B. stands) He’s livin’ at Merrick’s and
looks like the prize at a carnival.
EB: What a
delightful image to carry away with me!
(E.B. throws his arms up in delight as he
leaves. Al, puts on a pair of reading
glasses, looking up at Dan , Dan leaves.)
(Bella Union, Cy is reading the paper at the bar,
Jack looking on. Tess is coming down
the stairs.)
Cy: Swearengen’s
put the paper man’s boat to sea with a hold full of fuckin’ bullshit.
Tessie: He
wants 5,000 more upstairs.
Cy: Jesus
Christ! (Throws the paper down and pounds
the bar with his fist.) Tell that fat bastard he can come down and get it
hisself!
Tessie: He
says it’s 100 if I bring it up.
Cy: Is the
5 you already brought him in any kinda action, Tess? (She looks down) It’s just for him to look at while he fucks
ya! So, do I want my $8.00, Tess, of
the $9.00 he pays for the fuck, and my 90 of the 100 he gives you to bring it
up to him, or do I want to give fat boy the opportunity, if he has to come down
to get the other five, to test his luck on the floor here amongst the games of
chance? (Charlie and Seth enter.)
Tessie: I see.
Cy: And
don’t mistake me, Honey, I want to
take the time to explain myself to you.
Seth: We’ve
come to see Mose Manuel about his brother gettin’ shot.
Cy: (Snorts, turns to Tess) Fetch Mose Manual, Tess. Tell him Sheriff Bullock wants to pay his condolences here amongst
the games of chance. (Cy picks up the paper and taps the front
article.) All these rumors, Sheriff, swirling around you. How do
you keep your hat on?
(Alma’s room, she and Ellsworth are going over
paperwork. Sofia is in the bedroom,
kneeling at the end of the bed, writing.)
Ellsworth: If
you’ll sign right here, Ma’am. And give
us a “A.G.” in the corner.
Alma: (Dipping
her quill) Is that abbreviation a term of art in financial transactions? Ought I acquaint myself with its meaning?
Ellsworth: That
abbreviation, Ma’am, is your initials.
Alma: (Nods and signs
the paperwork.) And by asking the
whereabouts of the currency I signed for receiving, do I reveal an even deeper
stupidity?
Ellsworth:
The coach from Denver should get in today.
Alma: And
the safe we’ve purchased? To be housed
in the bank we’re to build?
Ellsworth:
It’s inside the coach; as well. Safe’s
inside the coach and the currency is inside the safe is the full picture.
Alma:
There, I did manage to be stupid.
Ellsworth:
No, Ma’am.
Alma: And
you will see to the safe’s temporary situation at the Star & Bullock
hardware store?
Ellsworth:
Yes, Ma’am.
Alma: Gaze
averted from the awkwardness such a situation generates.
Ellsworth:
Fixin’ my eyes instead on its pluses securing your money.
Alma: (nodding) Excellent then, Mr. Ellsworth.
(sniffs) May I further impose on you
to convey this letter? (Hands him a
letter)
Ellsworth:
Of course. (He reads the envelope) Mr.
Swearengen?
Alma: Please.
(She gets up quickly, holding her
stomach.)
Ellsworth: All
right. Is there anything else for us to
discuss?
Alma: Not at this time. (She
runs to the bedroom, puking.)
Ellsworth: (Quickly gathers up the papers) I’ll be goin’ then.
(He leaves, Alma is groaning.)
(Chez Amie. Joanie walks to the front door and opens
the blinds. This reveals Jane slumped against the outer door, asleep. Joanie
opens the side door and awakens Jane)
Jane: Who’s
that?
Joanie:
It’s Joanie Stubbs. You’re outside my
place.
Jane: (Situates her gun, groaning) Keepin’ half-assed vigil after the fact.
Joanie: Well,
come in and tell me what you mean.
Jane: (Hawks and spits, Joanie turns her head
away) Nah, that’s all right. (Starts
to get up) Uh, that cocksucker you spoke to me of come from here last night
with a bloody fucking mug.
Joanie: I
gave it to him.
Jane:
Good! (Groans, pulling herself to her
feet) Ahhh…anyways, he told me…at rifle point you was okay.
Joanie: I
am.
Jane: I knew – if he was lying you was dead and
feared finding you so in the darkness. Uh…(clears
throat) Scared that way since I was small.
Joanie:
Well, come on in, Jane.
Jane: If you was alive—(laughs) why fuckin’ knock was my thinkin’. Interfere with you gettin’ to sleep or—bein’
asleep already—
Joanie:
Jane, it’s nippy on my twat.
Jane: Alright, then, see you later! (Turns
quickly to leave, Joanie steps onto the porch.)
Joanie: Do you
remember you were in here yesterday?
Jane: Yes, I fuckin’ remember.
Joanie:
Well, why not come in again?
Jane: Maybe I just fuckin’ might. (Horse
whinnies)
Fields: Hey hey
hey (He has a wild horse by a rope,
pulling him)
Jane: Ah…Nigger General’s got a wild horse on his hands.
(She clears her throat and enters the Chez Amie.)
(The livery, Hostetler is trying to help Fields.)
Hostetler: Whoa,
boy, whoa whoa.
Fields: I
pity the brute beast who pits his cunning against the Nigger Generals! Whoa,--oh shit! Come here, boy! We can
catch the cavalry before they head south and sell him for $100! But they want their horses cut!
Hostetler:
Where’d you catch him?
Fields: I
sprung a rope fence behind him in a box canyon. (Horse neighs) He’d escaped the Sioux—but his path crossed an
in-season mare’s.
Hostetler:
Whoa boy, whoa boy. Now, now I can nut
him, but the moon is wrong, and he’s gonna take it badly.
Fields:
Fuck, I ain’t losing my chance at 100 waiting on no fucking moon! Okay.
Don’t put your ass on me. Hey! Hey!
Hostetler:
Come on, come on, come on. Wash him so
he won’t fester.
Fields:
Hey, I got him. All right. Come here, boy. Come here. Now, if you
want to take it out on someone, remember it was very dark-skinned white folks
that cut on you. They just sounded like
niggers to throw you off.
(Gem saloon, Johnny and a whore are sitting on the
stairs while Johnny tries to teach her to read.)
Johnny: This
one’s a “D.” And this one’s a “G.” And what’s the first one?
Whore:
“D”? (Dan sits at a table and pours
coffee.)
Al: (Coming down the stairs, reading) “Sheriff Bullock declines comment on the swirls of
rumors that parties in Helena with whom he has had long association are keenly
interested in annexing our camp to the Montana territories. ‘The Pioneer’ (sits) also learns of interest more developed and advanced on the
part of Wyoming.”
Johnny: You
knew Cheyenne would be heard from.
Al: Get
the fuck up off them steps! (Johnny and
the whore jump up) Here’s where it gets really fuckin’ busy. “And of an
offer secretly proffered by certain elements in Washington D.C. to annex to
America these our beloved hills as a separate free-standing territory, with an
eye towards eventual statehood.”
Johnny:
Makin’ Deadwood fuckin’ headquarters!
Al: (Takes off his glasses) Don’t spread
your legs for them just yet, Johnny.
Not with Mexico to be heard from and fucking France.
(Merrick’s print shop, he presses out a copy of the
paper, removes it from the tray.
Blazanov is unpacking books.
E.B. is snooping around him, looking interested.)
Merrick: There. 100 extra copies, Gentlemen, to satisfy the
widened interest I expect today’s edition may generate.
EB: (Claps) Wonderful, eh, Mr.
Blazanov? 100 copies extra.
Blazanov:
Okay.
Merrick:
Shall we walk a bit, my American and Russian friends?
EB: (To Blazanov) Shall we?
Blazanov: I can’t leave my apparatus.
Merrick:
Are not all of us, Mr. Blazanov, tethered in some sense to our labors? And at some point in our lives, is not
acceptance of that tethering discovery of a path to joy?
Blazanov:
Don’t know, Mr. Merrick.
Merrick:
And does not the very knowing we are tethered allow us in conscience upon
occasion, the rejuvenating pleasures of respite?
EB: Take
your walk alone, A.W., for I confess I’m mesmerized by Mr. Blazanov’s machine
and hope he may explain its workings.
Merrick: Has
Al seen “The Pioneer”?
EB: I
don’t know. A mystery you should seek to solve.
(The door opens, Alice Isringhausen enters…)
Alice: Good day.
Merrick:
Ah, good day, Miss. Uh, A.W. Merrick of
“The Deadwood Pioneer.”
Alice: I wish to send a telegram.
Merrick: A
telegram, yes, of course. Then that’s
Mr. Blazanov there you seek.
(Alice walks over to Blazanov’s corner. It has a tent-flap opening to the
thoroughfare.)
Blazanov: How
do you do? Blazanov, Cheyenne and Black
Hills telegraph company.
Alice: How do you do?
EB: Miss
Isringhausen.
Alice: Mr. Farnum.
I wish this message sent.
Blazanov: Oh,
of course. I have a form for you to
write on. Please. (He holds a chair out for her, she goes to the desk, E.B. trying to
peek at her message. She looks at him,
he turns, kicks something and moans in pain.)
EB: Hmm.
Mmm. (He turns to peek again) You seem uncowed by Mr. Blazanov’s
apparatus. Are you initiate in its
mysteries?
Alice:
Fuck off.
(EB looks down, backing off. Blazanov motions to the desk.)
Blazanov:
Please.
(Merrick enters the Gem from upstairs.)
Merrick: Ah,
Gentlemen! Ah! (Running downstairs,
laughing) Oh, Jeez! (Laughs) Ah,
what news? (chuckles) This
ink-stained wretch has just produced an overrun of 100 copies!
Al: (Kicks Dan under the table – Dan stirs from
reading the paper.) Dan, don’t you agree that the truth, if only a pinch,
must season every falsehood, or the palate fuckin’ rebels? (The
smile starts to fall from A.W.’s face) And mustn’t the novice chef be
mindful not to ladle out his concoction by the unseasoned fucking ton, lest
before he perfect his art, he lose his clientele? (Al starts to walk
upstairs, Johnny and the whore watching.
Johnny looks confused. A.W. is
stunned.)
Dan:
I’d like
the ball scores a little more fuckin’ prompt.
Merrick: Excuse
me. (Runs
upstairs) Al Swearengen, I would not go into that office if I were you.
Al: Were
you fuckin’ born yesterday? (Ellsworth enters downstairs)
Merrick: No,
Sir, I was not. I was not born yesterday!
Al: Then
may we please have a conversation as fuckin’ adults?
Merrick: I
think we’d better!
(Al pops the arm of his glasses in his mouth and
opens the office door, looking at Merrick.
Merrick looks at Ellsworth & Dan below, they enter the office, Al
shuts the door.)
Ellsworth : I
ain’t waitin’. (Takes the letter out) Give this to him. Tell him whatever its import, he’d best not serve the sender
ill.
(He tosses the letter on the table in front of Dan,
Dan takes it and Ellsworth leaves. E.B.
enters from above, looking down on Dan & Johnny.)
Dan: He’s
in with Merrick, E.B.
EB: I bear
news that don’t wanna wait. (He turns, facing the wall.)
Al: Every
rumor you floated in your article, Merrick, I believe is a living possibility
for this camp, and I want you to fuckin’ hear that as a compliment. (Pours shots)
Merrick: If so,
it’s the first from your lips.
Al:
Because all them possibilities called next to accomplished fact in one fuckin’
outgush makes people smell a rat. (Drinks)
Merrick: Yes, I
suppose so.
Al: These
interests comin’ after us, Merrick, they’re fuckin’ rough. They’re going after our nuts. They’re hypocrite cocksuckers, and the
fuckin’ lyin’ tactics and instruments they use to fuck people up the ass can be
turned against them.
Merrick: My
newspaper being such an instrument. (Al pours another shot)
Al: But
scale, amount, proportion, seasonin’.
Drink that fuckin’ second shot, Merrick!
Merrick: I
like my fuckin’ liquor.
Al: A
trait in you that gave me early hope.
Merrick: (Sniffs his hand) I like stinkin’ of
fuckin’ ink too. Give it a fuckin’
smell, Al.
Al: No. So you enjoyed writin’ your fuckin’ article,
huh? (They drink) Worse ways to spend
a night, puttin’ shoulder to a fuckin’ idea.
Merrick: Evidently,
I put mine to overmany.
Al: (Pours again) Pursued down overmany
avenues. The camp’s welfare was the
main idea. (E.B. approaches Al’s door and
knocks.)
EB: Al! Something strange has transpired I need you
to construe.
Al: What?!
EB: As I
was befriending—
Al: Come
in!
EB: (Enters) As
I was befriending the Russian operator, that woman tutor came to send a
telegram. We jockeyed a bit as I sought
a glance at its contents, (Al leans
forward) and finally, she shouted in so many words—and here is the
strangeness in a tutor, to get the fuck away from her—
Dan: (enters) Since
the private part of this meetin’s over, (hands
Al the letter – whispers) Ellsworth brung it.
EB: --In
so many words. (Al opens the letter)
Al: Where’s
the tutor now? (Reads)
EB: Still
with the operator, apparently waiting for an answer to her message.
Al: (To Merrick) Leave by the front
entrance, huh? Walk around for a few
minutes before you go back to your place.
(A.W. walks to the door,
pausing. Al looks at him and raises his
eyebrows “What the fuck are you waiting for?” – Merrick leaves. Al addresses Dan, stuffing the letter in his
pocket.) Bring that tutor up here.
The Russian too.
EB: It
felt like something you’d want to construe.
Al: Go
away, E.B.
EB: All
right. Certainly.
(Al puts away the bottle and wipes the spillage from
his desk.)
(William’s garden—he’s unwrapping a few seeds. He shoves the burlap they were in into his
pocket and kneels down to plant them.
Martha sees him from the window and goes outside to join him.)
William: It’s
the seeds from the sunflower we had in Fort Quitman, which I had in a jar which
broke and mice ate most of. So now I
only have these three.
Martha: I
didn’t know you brought them.
William: Mr.
Bullock’s been missing father. I talked
to him about it this morning. As Papa
liked the sunflower, I thought Mr. Bullock might as well.
Martha:
Then shall we plant those together?
William:
Press the soil firmly on them, while I get the watering can. (William gets up, Martha takes his place and
presses the soil. William comes back
with the watering can and Martha stands back.
He waters the seeds.) Maybe we should take Mr. Bullock lunch at his
store. (She smiles to herself)
(Bella Union, Mose is eating breakfast. Seth and Charlie are seated across from
him.)
Mose: An accident befell my brother is the sum of what I
know, and be glad I choose to say it. (eats)
Seth:
Gutshot, at Nuttall’s No. 10 by his own hand?
Mose: Correct.
Seth: The
day you sell out the claim you two were partnered on?
Mose: Correct, and fuck yourself, and
don’t act entitled to answers.
Charlie:
Why was Charlie handlin’ the gun?
Mose:
Fuck yourself, and don’t act
entitled.
Charlie:
Why weren’t you two watchin’ Nuttall’s bike ride?
Mose: (Wipes
his mouth, grabs his drink) Fuck yourself.
Seth: I want to see his gun and his remains. Where is Charlie buried?
Mose: (stammering) My brother is
buried in a secret burial place by his own private instructions!
Cy: Jesus
Christ, Bullock! Put together a court
or don’t! (Wolcott enters)
Charlie: Quiet, you!
Cy: Don’t
hush me in my own fucking joint. And if
we take it outside, old man, expect a different outcome from the other fuckin’
day.
Charlie:
You best have 5 of your fuckin’ cappers then with, uh, rifles at the ready.
Cy: I got
5 and 5 behind them, indoors or out.
Wolcott: I
too must report to the Sheriff a death, a Cornishman at theft has been shot in
Mr. Hearst’s claim.
Seth:
Killed?
Wolcott:
Yes, in flight.
Charlie:
It’s all fuckin’ amalgamation and capital, ain’t it, Wolcott?
Wolcott: Mr.
Utter, are you a student of Hume?
Smith? A disciple of Karl Marx?
Seth: (Stands)
Come on, Charlie. (They head for the
door)
Wolcott:
My employer, Mr. Hearst, has interests and connections in Montana, Sheriff, as
are imputed to you in this mornings “Pioneer.”
Charlie: (He turns and charges Wolcott, stepping up
on a couch) You shut your fucking mouth!
Cy: Get
him out of here!
Seth:
Down, Charlie! (Grabs him)
Charlie: (As Seth pushes him out the door) Sure got to you, didn’t he, Mose? Now he’s got to get you to die!
Seth: Come
one, Charlie.
(Tess moves up to Mose, putting her hand on his
shoulder. He puts his arm around her
legs.)
Mose: Mm-hm. Let
me, uh…(Puts his hand between her thighs)
get my arm through here so I can secure my toast.
(She pets his head as he takes a bite of toast.)
(In the street)
Charlie: You’re
gonna lift me one time too fuckin’ many! (Grabbing
onto a post)
Seth: You don’t
go back in there if I let you go.
Charlie:
Uh-huh. (Seth lets go, Charlie springs
away) I’m leavin’ the whole fuckin’ camp!
Seth:
Going where?
Charlie: A
letter come to hand I need to take to Bill’s missus. Excuse me. (Steps behind a bean
& corn stand, pushing the owner aside) Excuse me. Camp bidness. He wrote just before he got killed.
Seth: I see.
Charlie:
And you know who fuckin’ give it to me?
How crazy life got? And money
must buy these bastards any-fuckin’g-thing they want! That cocksucker inside, Mr. Amalgamation and fuckin’ capital!
Seth: Hearst’s geologist gave you the letter?
Charlie:
And God knows who he fuckin’ bought it offa…(grabs
some produce) or how many hands it passed through. It fucks me up thinking Bill’s missus got to
handle something that cocksucker touched.
Seth: Was it over the letter you beat him the other
day?
Charlie:
No no. (To shopkeeper) Excuse me. (Puts coins down) No, I give my word
not—not to say what that was over. I’d
best go, lest Mr. Amalgamation and capital takes one through the fucking
head. (He walks off – Seth calls after him)
Seth: What’s the import of that expression?
Charlie: (Stops) Do I look like I fuckin’ know? (Seth approaches) Some big-shot eastern
magazine reporter interviewin’ Bill said that was what’s changing things
around. (He looks away) Jane. I don’t know what’s gonna come of fuckin’
Jane.
Seth: I’ll keep an eye on her.
Charlie:
You should lock her in that cell and don’t let her fuckin’ drink! And don’t fuck yourself up over Mose
Manuel. He’ll get hisself fleeced of
what is rightfully his and what he got by fuckin’ murder. He’ll be judge on hisself and jury too. Just like the fuckin’ most of us. (We
see a coach coming down the thoroughfare.)
Seth: Coach from Denver.
Charlie: (Turns) Here’s yours.
Seth: (Turns and
sees William and Martha approaching – he turns back to Charlie) Good luck, Charlie!
(Charlie waves him off as he
leaves. Seth approaches his family.)
Martha:
We’ve brought you and Mr. Star lunch.
Seth: Thank
you.
(She taps William on the shoulder and they turn to go
to the hardware store. Alma watches the
scene from her window and sees the coach arrive.)
(Jane is
passed out on a chair at the Chez Amie.
Joanie comes out of her room, changed and fixing her hair. She bends down to pick up the broken
bottle.)
Jane: I’m
up!
Joanie:
You want the bath?
Jane: I may well get to that. (Joanie picks up the bottle fragments and walks across the room to
throw them out.) Ample here, ain’t it?
Joanie:
Yeah.
Jane: Uh, formerly a cooperage.
Joanie: My
friend Eddie that bought him out said the man had been a season ahead of
himself.
Jane: Well, lovely as it’s fixed as a brothel, I
expect you will reopen soon enough, uh…(chuckles)
restock and reopen.
Joanie:
You’d think so, wouldn’t ya? (Sits, looks
at Jane, Jane eyes her back.) Stay awhile, Jane. Be my guest. Or favor me
and stay.
Jane: (Pauses,
considering.)
I get top fuckin’ dollar. (chuckles.)
(We see Jane climbing the stairs of the freight
office up to the lock-up. She enters.
Charlie was fondling Bill’s letter and quickly hides it as she enters. He stands and packs as they talk.)
Charlie: New
saloon in the camp, Jane?
Jane: I know that’s some clever opening gambit to
culminate in breaking my balls.
Charlie:
Just sayin’ I checked the usual spots ‘cause I wanted to say goodbye before I
left camp, so incase you go ahead and fucking die—
Jane: Goodbye, Charlie, goodbye. Have a good fuckin’ trip. Shut the fuck up. ‘Cause it so happens when you return—if no trees or animals
killed you ... you were fucking driving crazy with criticism—you will find
I’ve moved out of this shitbox so I don’t have to fucking embarrass you or
fucking have you hovering over me like the ugliest fucking nurse in the fucking
universe. (She enters the lock-up, pushing Charlie aside. He slams the cell door
behind her.)
Charlie:
Into where?
Jane: Into where what?
Charlie:
Into where are you fuckin’ movin’ when you fuckin’ move out of here?
Jane: Into the fucking whorehouse down the way, which
you fucking sent me to see that woman at, if needin’ to piss in my ear didn’t
crowd out every other thought or recollection in your head!
Charlie:
How did the two of you get along?
Jane: Did I just fucking say I was movin’ in there?
Charlie:
Which being it’s a fuckin’ whorehouse could indicate some fuckin’ business
arrangement or some other fuckin’ thing.
Jane: (Comes
out of the cell) Yeah, I’m gonna be Queen Hooker. You’re a keen fuckin’ student of the human scene, Charlie! (She
heads for the door)
Charlie: Well, good! Good.
Jane: Where are you going anyway?
Charlie: (Tying a bandanna around his neck) I’ve
made a decision not to tell you.
Jane: If you made a decision not to tell me, what did you
just fuckin’ tell me for?
Charlie:
My decision is not to tell you my specific destination…’cause…I don’t think I
should. And that’s that.
Jane: Well, have a safe journey to your unannounced
destination and a safe fucking return.
Charlie:
And good luck to you with your new livin’ arrangement. (Jane opens the door – Charlie puts on his hat) And, uh…my best,
please, to, uh, Miss Stubbs.
Jane: And you not only a fucking pain in the balls,
Charlie, but also the strangest fucking person I ever met.
Charlie: You’ll
get no argument here.
Jane: Good!
(She leaves, slamming the door. Charlie puts his bag over his shoulder.)
(William is watching Trixie do her numbers in the
hardware store.)
William: 3
plus 3 would equal 6.
Trixie:
Well, I sometimes put 9 to amuse myself.
Sol:
Alright, take it up.
Trixie: (To Martha) Vigilant to detail like his
Pa.
(Martha smiles at Trixie, Ellsworth and Seth pull on
a rope, hauling the safe up while Sol guides it into place.)
Martha: I’d
think Mrs. Garret as the bank’s chief backer might wish to be present for its
opening. (Seth, Sol, Trixie and Ellsworth
all look at her.)
Ellsworth:
Well, as far as that, I got her proxy.
Martha:
Yes, but wouldn’t she wish to be? (They
all pause)
Seth: Perhaps she would.
Ellsworth: I
can ask. (He lets go of the rope and leaves, the rope gets away from Seth –
pulling Seth toward the safe as it thuds to the floor.)
Trixie:
Excuse me. (She runs outside after Ellsworth, giving a piercing whistle to get his
attention. He stops.) What the
fuck’s going on?
Ellsworth:
You as the wrong fella.
Trixie:
The water comes to a boil between them two fuckin’ women, I will fuckin’
guarantee you that much. Have you
proposed to Mrs. Garret as you fuckin’ swore you would?
Ellsworth:
Leavin’ aside what I did swear or didn’t, let’s say I fuckin’ have.
Trixie:
And?
Ellsworth:
That’s where the matter stands. She
ain’t said yes or no.
Trixie: How did the lady incline, fuckin’ Ellsworth?
Ellsworth: I
wouldn’t guess, fuckin’ Trixie.
Trixie:
Did you present yourself enthusiastic?
Ellsworth:
Well, I didn’t dance a jig if that’s what you’re asking.
Trixie: Or more fuckin’ glum-like, next to invitin’
refusal.
Ellsworth:
Not glum, not…invitin’ refusal.
Straightforward, I’d call it.
Trixie: Sincere?
Ellsworth:
Yeah.
Trixie: Well, what the fuck is her fuckin’ problem
then? You’re a worthy enough fuckin’
candidate, given all her fuckin’
givens.
Ellsworth:
Warm endorsement. She’d have to state
her reservations.
(Miss I is standing in Al’s office in front of his
desk Al’s produced the letter from Alma.)
Al: Mrs.
Garret writ me a letter saying how yesterday she lost her temper with you
somewhat, and judgment, she tipped she was on to you bein’ a Pinkerton. (He
holds the letter out. She doesn’t
move. He sets it down.) Oh, bein’
bright, I expect you concluded it was me must have told her, meanin’ maybe I
had sold over to her, and with my allegiance now in question, I expect you
wired the Pinkerton big-shots, arguing you oughtn’t sign any documents that
might be able to prove that you, the agency and Mrs. Garret’s fuckin’ in-laws hired
me to lay at Mrs. Garret’s doorstep the murder of her husband.
Alice: And further, Mr. Swearengen, that as to
purchase of your allegiance—now in question—they might wish to keep the bidding
open.
Al:
Biddin’s open always on everyone, Miss Isringhausen. (He sips his tea.) But I expect you understand, knowin’ as I do,
should Mrs. Garret lose her claim, rather than operate it themselves, her cunt
in-laws will sell to third-party cocksuckers inimical to the whole of my interests in this camp! To buy my allegiance against myself, in-law
cunts and shit-heel operators would have to bid very high indeed. No, more likely Miss Isringhausen, I think
you’d contemplate changing your allegiance before I would mine.
Alice: What benefit would I consider might accrue to
me?
Al: I
intercepted your shit-heel boss’s message back to you, through the miracle of
telegraph, and it answers that very question.
As I have it here before me, I will read it to you verbatim. “Miss
Isringhausen, as this will save you great pain and keep you from being killed,
sign all documents Mr. Swearengen has drawn.
Take the $5,000 and disappear.
Yours sincerely, your boss, Pinkerton shit-heel.”
Alice: The $5,000 alluded to in the invisible
telegram, can the money be produced? (Al
takes the cash out of the cashbox on his desk) Without, of course, exposing
him to the contents of the document, I would want the sheriff present at my
signature, and as my escort from the camp.
Al: (Sets the cash down) I bet that can be
arranged. (She nods)
(Dan is with Blazanov in another room. He is standing, staring at Blazanov while
Blazanov is sitting on a bed.)
Blazanov: I
can’t betray the confidence of messages.
Dan:
Don’t
guarantee what you’ll never do, Blazanov, not without imaginin’ your feet stuck
to the fire.
Blazanov: (sighs) Sir—(Dan clears his throat) I am a person whose parents have been
murdered, and no other family connection and feeling, and believe in confidence
of messages.
Dan: What
the fuck’s all that supposed to mean?
Blazanov:
I hope…feet in the fire would not change me.
(The hardware store, Tom walks in)
William: Congratulations,
Mr. Nuttall.
Tom:Thank you, young man.
William:
How’s the boneshaker?
Tom:
Unshook. Which would be a fib to say
about me. (He laughs, walks to Seth) I’ve
come, Sheriff, to ask what you’ve learned of the shootin’ yesterday in my
place.
Seth: Mose
Manuel said his brother killed himself by accident.
Tom: Uh,
by accident? Two hours before Mose
sells their claim that Charlie said they’d worked theirselves—lock, stock and
barrel to the Hearst interests?
Seth:
There’s no witnesses, Tom.
Tom: Hurtful, brother against brother, in a joint
that bears my name—the most recent hurtful event. (Brightens) But might I
ask William to assist me in calibrating the boneshaker’s handlebars?
Martha: (Nods to William, smiling) Go ahead,
William. (William grins and Tom walks to him.)
William: I
don’t know how to calibrate handlebars, sir.
Tom:
Oh, knowledge is overrated, William. (Martha
looks to Seth) Uh-diligence is what’s required, and the service of a
willing spirit. (He holds his hand out to William, the boy grabs it and hops off his
chair, puts his hat on and they head out. Tom laughs) Oh oh oh oh
easy! Easy, easy, boy. I use my right hand to pour. (Tom-laughing,
waves goodbye, leading William across the thoroughfare.)
(Alma’s room, Alma is knitting. Sophia, with the yarn
ball on her lap, is playing with her dolls. Ellsworth stands nearby)
Ellsworth: And
then Miz Bullock said as it’s yours, (Alma
looks up) you might want to see the safe installed.
Alma: Did she?
Ellsworth:
Yes, Ma’am. Havin’ brought the midday
meal as the safe arrived with the money inside.
Alma: (knitting)
And what did Mr. Bullock say to Mrs. Bullock?
Ellsworth: (Flatly) He said that might be a good idea.
Alma: With enthusiasm equaling yours as you describe the
moment?
Ellsworth:
I’d say on Mr. Bullock’s part, about equal enthusiasm, Mrs. Garret, yes.
Alma: Despite which Mrs. Bullock persisted?
Ellsworth:
Yes.
Alma: Well, perhaps I oughtn’t to disappoint her.
Ellsworth:
(Pauses, takes a deep breath) Earlier
when I asked what else we might have to discuss, I referred to my proposal.
Alma: I took that to be your meaning at the time.
Ellsworth:
Chose not to respond.
Alma: Not to, yes, as I hadn’t yet made up my mind.
Ellsworth:
Have you now?
Alma: Nor have I now. (Ellsworth waits) Would
you have me decide now, before I act on Mrs. Bullock’s invitation? Do you put me to those terms?
Ellsworth:
I guess there’s no burning rush.
Alma: (clears
throat) Shall we go for a walk, Sofia?
(She puts down her knitting and stands.)
(Hardware store, Martha, Seth and Sol are seated for
lunch. Trixie is at the desk above,
working her numbers.)
Martha: Are
you sure you won’t join us?
Trixie: (Shaking
her head, smiling) Thank you. I
tend to forego the midday meal.
Martha: It
occurred to me, Mrs. Garret having reason to be present in any case, that we
might discuss in more formed a fashion, our plans for the children’s schooling,
more constructively than in some previous conversation.
Seth: I’m
delighted.
Sol:
Wonderful. (Motioning to the food as he says this. Johnny enters, clearing his throat. Seth turns.)
Johnny: Mr.
Swearengen asked to see you, Sheriff.
Seth: Not just now.
(Johnny nods and backs out, nodding to Trixie and Sol
as he does. Sol nods back, Trixie
watches him go to the porch, where he stands, waiting.)
(On their way to the No. 10, Tom & William walk
and talk jovially.)
Tom: A man tying the right rope to the frame and the other
end to a thunderhead, could use the machine to tow clouds. (They arrive at the bike, William touching the handlebar.)
William: I wish I was taller.
Tom: Well, when your legs lengthen, I calculate
you’ll be among the great cloud haulers of the world.
William:
Just to ride like you did yesterday, Mr. Nuttall. You should have seen your face.
Tom: (Crouching
dramatically) The Bella Union gap was my crucible, William—the fabled mud
slick. I shifted shoulders forward—uh,
not too much, and at a sledge-trench, Ho! (Steve
steps outside) Swung my buttocks left, by God, turned the bars just so,
thump! The buried plank, bom! And did I not come through a treat?
(Steve looks on, smiling, chuckling. William laughs, looking up at Tom.)
(Alma enters the hardware store with Sofia and
Ellsworth.)
Alma: Good afternoon.
(Sol & Martha stand)
Sol: Good
afternoon.
Seth: Good afternoon. (Stands)
Martha: (Walking over to Alma) Good afternoon, Mrs. Garret.
Alma: Good afternoon, Mrs. Bullock.
Martha: (Holding out her hand) Very good wishes
on a venture offering opportunity to so many in the camp.
(Sol, Seth, Ellsworth and Trixie all wait with
surprised looks)
Alma: (pauses, stunned) Thank you.
Martha:
Hope.
Alma: For taking up the education of the camp’s
children, (We see they are clasping hands
as Sofia looks on) my Sofia included, thank you. As I feel I expressed inadequately when last we spoke.
Trixie:
Bite of meat, Mrs. Garret?
Alma: