Deadwood (2004–2006): Season 1, Episode 7 - Bullock Returns to the Camp - full transcript

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That's what McCall was ridin'.

All right.

Charlie: Evening.

Evening back.

Look at that paint, Charlie.

I seen it.

I had a happy just like that.

Foundered.

- Makes me miserable reminiscing on it.
- Do you know the owner?

If he'd sell the horse
is what he really wants to know.



Well, I don't know if he'd sell.

But the fuckin' jerk's
in that bunkhouse.

- Thank you.
- Evenin'.

(chattering)

Jack McCall.

I'm done.

I don't wanna play no more.

Bein' a loudmouth cunt,

I guess some time
since he's been here,

this fella who don't
wanna play no more

probably spoke of killin'
Wild Bill Hickok.

Well, we're Bill Hickok's friends.

- I'm Seth Bullock.
- I'm Charlie Utter.

And if you got your head blown off
sittin' here with your back turned,



that'd be as fair a play
as you gave him.

Guess you wanna soften him up some
before you make your offer?

My plan is to take him
to Yankton for trial.

If you got a different idea,
you can ride ahead.

Nah.

Let's take the cocksucker
to Yankton.

I don't know of
a Henry Anderson in camp,

but that don't mean there ain't.

This was took of him
in the Union army.

He'd be 12 years older now.
Could you let her hold it?

With so much showing,
it's pretty near fallin' apart.

Here.
Third from the middle.

That, uh... right there?

- Yeah.
- That face don't-- don't look familiar.

Thanks for lookin'.

You definite he's in these hills?

Wrote from Bismarck,

said he'd send for us
when he got set up.

Man:
I just gotta say

it's no guarantee your dad's
anywhere near this area.

And there's no fuckin' joy
in me telling you that,

but it's the goddamned truth
and the way human beings are.

- He said he'd send for Mother and us.
- Is your mama here?

She passed.

Sorry. Well, good luck.

Do you know of-- of work for me?

- No.
- She can get work right here.

- Boy: No, sir.
- Girl: No, thank you.

- Can you push a broom?
- And I could start now.

Four bits a day. And I'd bet
you'd like the first in advance.

If you wouldn't mind.

Same for her,

as regrets for me being
such a ruffian.

Here you go, honey.

If I don't fire him first,
you can pick him up at 10:00.

Thank you, sir.

I'll wait for you, Miles.

Find a safe place to wait, you hear?

We teach a special
sweepin' technique here.

Follow her lead.

(man coughing)

It's all right, son.
It's all right.

Um... excuse me.

I'm required to be
at the graveyard.

The widow Garret is
laying her husband to rest.

I'd have bet a month's wages that burial
would've took place in New York City,

if I had a fuckin' payin' job.

The, uh... wet cloth to his lips

seems to give him some relief.

- All right.
- Thank you.

What do you think of my patient, Doc?

You might wanna steer clear
of his reflection for a while,

but you're symptom-free.
You ain't contagious no more

and you can't get re-infected, so--

Them as heals under my care
stay fuckin' healed.

- Thanks, Doc.
- I got clothes for you back here.

Hereafter in calamity,
I'll be sure to call for Jane.

(chuckles)
You gonna stick around the camp?

- I believe I will for a while.
- Good,

'cause I wanna
monitor your activities,

find out what you do that weighs
so heavy on your conscience.

When I first come on you in the woods,
all you could say was, "I apologize."

Before you exhibit your johnson,
I'm gonna see to this fella.

So long. Good luck to you.

- Good luck to you.
- All right.

- You're on your own for alterations.
- Hmm.

Now I'm gonna lay this cloth
on your fuckin' lips.

Trixie:
There's Mr. Star to collect us.

Mr. Star has been
ever so attentive.

- Very considerate.
- To you.

When we leave the hotel,
my boss will be watchin'.

Shall I reel and stagger?

I...

I know the risk
lying to him has put you to.

I've-- I can't imagine why
I'd make it the subject of humor.

- You're feeling better.
- (knock on door)

- Am I early?
- Good morning, Mr. Star.

I'll be ready in just a moment.

- I can have a cup of coffee downstairs.
- No, not at all.

Wait.
Wait in here with Trixie.

I'll just be a moment.

That widow ain't high.

Maybe waiting
till after the service.

When she'd wanna get good and fucking loaded
is before the fucking service,

against all the fucking carrying on.

- What do you think?
- Makes sense.

Meaning all that whore's been
telling me the last 10 fucking days

about seeing the widow taking the dope,
and your own fucking assurances--

you verify that she's loaded personally--
you're both full of shit.

I checked in on the woman daily.

If I was fooled, perhaps I've
chosen simplemindedness, Al,

over realizing a certain friend

has used me as an instrument
of purposes he concealed.

Say what you're gonna say
or prepare for eternal fucking silence.

I don't believe you commissioned me
to make an offer

on the widow's claim
to keep the regulators off you, Al.

I think someone found something
out there you want.

Assume you ain't been privy
to the ins and outs of that matter

for the sake
of fucking conversation, huh?

I mean, was I asleep, EB,

when you and me
declared undying loyalty

and full-faith mutual disclosure

about every fucking detail
of every fucking move we were

- ever gonna fucking make together?
- You used me as a pawn, Al.

And you fucked up the game
is the central fucking present issue.

We agreed on 2,000.
You want a fucking percentage instead?

Is that such an inconceivable
proposition?

- Yeah, you got a percentage, EB.
- How big?

Two percent of the first million,
half a percent after.

You wanna feel a damp palm, Al,

select either of these hands.

Just get to the funeral, EB.
Go to 20 if you have to.

Just get that fucking claim.

20 if I have to. My word.

What a handsome man.
Wish I could tell you I recognize him.

Thank you anyway.

- Your dad, I expect.
- Yes.

You have reason
to think he's out here?

He wrote us from Bismarck
he'd be prospecting the hills.

- "Us" being?
- My brother.

He just got work over here.

Good for him.

So it's just the two of you?

Our mother passed.
Why we come from Buffalo.

- And you're out here looking for your dad.
- Yes.

- Uh, Henry?
- Yes.

Out here looking
for her father, Eddie--

her and her older brother.

Got a photograph, I don't...
I don't recognize the likeness.

No.

- Henry Anderson?
- Yes.

- Yeah, I don't recognize him.
- Mm.

What are you gonna do
while your brother works?

Work too, while we're looking
to set aside, if we have to move on.

Oh, if Dad doesn't turn up here.

Yeah, what do you do?

Cook, clean, sew, sweep.

Uh-huh.

- How quick do you learn?
- Guess I learn pretty quick.

Maestro.

We are strangers and sojourners.

Mr. Garret's burial place

is a great distance from New York City.

But his home

- is in His Father's house.
- Ingrid... Marta...

- And on the great day...
- ...Mama...

- His Father will take him into it.
- ...Papa.

As He will all who
confess His Son savior

from wherever
we may be put to rest.

Our hymn is
"A Mighty Fortress."

♪ A mighty fortress is our God ♪

♪ A bulwark never failing... ♪

- My sympathies, madam...
- ♪ Our helper... ♪

...but my own requirements force me
to ignore what's seemly.

I must decide where to place my capital.

Might raising my offer
to say, $19,500, uh,

prompt you to an immediate answer?

- No, Mr. Farnum.
- ♪ Doth seek to work us woe ♪

♪ Lord Sabbath, His name ♪

- ♪ His craft and power... ♪
- I would as soon not see Bill now.

I'll see him some other time.

Come on.

♪ On earth is not His equal... ♪

I will require a decision
within 24 hours--

Please, stop speaking
to me, Mr. Farnum.

♪ Did we in our own
strength confide ♪

♪ Our striving would be losing ♪

♪ Were not the right man
by our side... ♪

♪ The man of God's
own choosing. ♪

I hope you ain't gived up
on that little runt of a girl, Al.

Oh, do you worry for her, Dan,

wandering the muck
of our thoroughfare,

her tiny self all but
swallowed up in horseshit?

Hey, kid! Come here.

- Yes, sir?
- Stand with us here a second.

What are-- what are we doing?

Waiting.

Al:
And out the door he'll go,

and prompt as
a Swiss fucking timepiece

three big-tittied whores will now
emerge from behind that screen.

He lines 'em up at two-foot intervals,
smock tops down,

and all but sprints past 'em,
giving their titties a lick.

And if he misses a titty,
does not let himself retrace his steps.

- Don't tell me.
- Yeah, and then he goes on his way home,

relieved for the day.
What's your name? It's Miles, huh?

- Miles, yeah.
- Yeah.

Strange, huh, Miles?

But something you gotta
know about specialists:

they pay a premium

and they never
cause fucking trouble.

I sometimes imagine in my declining
years running a small joint

in Manchester, England,
catering to specialists exclusive.

And to let 'em know they're amongst
their own, I'll operate from the corner,

hanging upside down
like a fucking bat, hmm?

- We're not bad sorts here, huh, Miles?
- No, sir.

So do you wanna ask your sister
if she'd like to reconsider, hmm?

You don't really
mean that, Mr. Swearengen.

Of course I don't mean it. How dare you
suggest I'd mean a thing like that, huh?

I did my part-- raised our offer to 20
and demanded answer within the day.

But what, you cocksucker?

Complications have ensued:
Bullock's come back.

I expect she'll wanna
take counsel with him.

Tell the whore I wanna see her.

And I trust this doesn't
alter our agreement.

I trust you know 2% of nothing's
fucking nothing.

That fella from Montana I knew to trust
won't be able to assay your claim.

I see.

We'll engage someone local,
and I'll keep an eye on him.

As I've decided to stay in camp,
Mr. Bullock, at least for the near term,

I hope you'll feel absolved
of those responsibilities

towards my interest that you
undertook at Mr. Hickok's request.

I prefer to see 'em through.

They're properly mine.

I even feel marginally
capable of shouldering them

and I certainly realize
that you and Mr. Star

have responsibilities of your own.

Are you firing me, Mrs. Garret?

I'm offering you absolution.

Otherwise I'm staying on.

I'm so sorry you were hurt.

So how hard are they
coming at you to sell?

I could confide

that in an effort
to blur my judgment,

Mr. Swearengen
engaged intermediaries

to indulge me with opium.

But that would entail
acknowledging that

I've had a weakness in that direction.

Uh...

more appropriately,
uh, I could add

at the graveyard
Mr. Farnum raised his offer

$7,500,

presumably also on
Mr. Swearengen's instruction,

and set a 24-hour limit to my reply.

Under the circumstances,
I'd say that's coming pretty hard.

Please forgive me for making
you uncomfortable, Mr. Bullock.

I had better manners
before I began to abstain.

That's all right.

Anyways, are you at risk
for the smallpox?

I was inoculated
in New York City.

The child whose life you saved
presumably has not been,

but I assume she's safer
under my care

than traveling in a covered wagon
with strangers.

Anyways, I'll line up the assayer.

Thank you.

You are changed.

You seem to be too.

Our stock's depleted,
but we are offering a 100% discount

on any item that catches your eye.

I've got money.

Our special get-
acquainted-with-those-

we'd-like-to-get-
acquainted-with sale.

Mr. Utter.

I brought these
pickaxes for you to sell.

There's two sifters on that
black cayuse out there.

Mighty grateful, sir.

You got this place just
about built, don't you?

Saving the last
master-strokes for Seth.

Oh, hello. I didn't see you.

Hello.

Hey, that's that little girl, isn't it?

Taking care of her for Mrs. Garret.

As much as she favors you,
she could be yours.

I lost the receipts for my costs.

Maybe while you was busy
saving my partner's life.

Let me get these sifters for you.

See if you can make
those accounts add up.

I don't know if you heard me inside

thanking you for helping my friend.

I heard you. It's all right.

I'm sorry you lost yours.

All right. Thank you.

Welcome back, Mr. Utter.

We've had a mild increase in rates,
but I do have a room available.

I'll see.

What do you want, Mr. Farnum?

I have a message for Trixie
that's looking to that orphan child.

- She's to see her longer-term employer.
- I'll tell her.

You know who that is?

I know she works at The Gem.

And even so, admit her
to your trade at public hours--

congratulations, sir,
on your advanced thinking.

Al wants you, Trixie.

Stickler for self-delivered
messages.

Our dad ain't here.

I know it,
even if my brother don't.

Maybe he never even
tried to get here.

Or maybe he did try
to get here and couldn't,

maybe something happened to him.

There's so many ways
it could be, Flora,

it's not much point
deciding which it was.

He'd never think that though--
my brother.

Must be how he needs to do.

I ain't a virgin--

if you wanna know that.

I had a boyfriend in Buffalo.

And was you upset
to have to leave him?

- What do you think?
- I don't know.

I was upset.

At the same time
he was a stupid son of a bitch.

And rough.

Here.

You can't tell
my brother about him.

He'd make it back to Buffalo
and shoot Lewis in the head.

All that way in defense
of your virtue?

That's more trouble
than I ever took with it.

Cy.

Lazarus risen.

Look at you, you son of a gun.

Hello, Cy.

Good to see you, Andy.

Don't be afraid
to shake with me, Eddie.

I ain't contagious no more.

Highly becoming outfit.

I'm here for my belongings.

Look...

they're gone, Andy.

Measures to stop the spread.

Ah hell, the important
thing is you're well.

I'll front you whatever you need.
Let's get something going, hmm?

- Andy?
- In the flesh, sweetheart.

- Which ain't much to look at.
- You made it, Andy.

Oh, and we ain't
getting nothing going.

All I come back for, Cy,
was my things,

and you tossed them too.

Why don't you take this and get
yourself outta that clown outfit?

Once you've cooled off a little,

think how you'd have done different
when somebody showed up

in the shape you was in
and my responsibilities to meet.

Better than to throw him
in the woods to fucking die?

Then don't think
about nothing, Andy.

Use the money for a whore

and a toot and go join
the fucking circus.

Did you turn her out?

Her brother's gonna be a problem.

Fuck her brother.
We'll handle the brother

if we have to kill the cocksucker.

That's an interesting
piece of strange.

(knocks)

Ain't you a picture?

- What is it?
- Hmm?

Oh, am I detaining you
in some way?

Am I fucking imposing?

Mrs. Garret's
to sit down with Bullock.

I thought you'd want me over there.

Oh yeah, so you can bring me
a full and fair report, huh?

But will the widow have her
wits about her, Trixie, huh?

Or will they be passing the opium pipe

like heathens between 'em,
her and fucking Bullock, hmm?

- What're you pissed off for?
- I ain't pissed off.

I'm in fucking wonderment.

I'm waiting to be kept happy
by the next fucking fairy tale.

Do you want me back at the hotel
or do you wanna do something to me?

Now why would I want you
to go back there, huh?

Or rely on anything you said transpired

after you lied about
her taking that dope, huh?

Her being high...

wasn't gonna have nothing to do

with whether or not
she sold you that claim,

and she wanted
to get off the dope.

And that little one needs
someone to care for her...

and maybe get her
the fuck outta here.

And I knew it wasn't gonna be me.

So you want me back over there

and to tell you what
they fucking decide?

Or do you wanna
rip my fucking guts out?

Get back there quick.

Don't kid yourself, Trixie.
Don't get a mistaken idea.

Mr. Utter.

This is where Bill got killed, huh?

Uh...

I'll be sorry about that
for as long as I live.

Can you tell me about it?

Yeah.

It-- it was about sun-up

over at that Bella Union joint,

Mr. Hickok plum
gutted McCall at draw.

And now here Mr. Hickok
was at poker again.

Say a couple hours of daylight left

and in come that coward McCall.

Walked up on him
and shot him in the head.

Bill never know when he come in.

Uh, those of us that did,

we didn't have no inkling
of what he intended.

He just murdered him,
right where he sat.

Man:
If I may, sir...

this is here where

Wild Bill was sitting when McCall
entered from the front,

approached the table,
causing no apprehension

'cause he had often
frequented the game.

Of a sudden,
McCall produced a revolver

and shouting "Take that,
damn you!" he fired.

Muzzle couldn't have been
three inches from Wild Bill's head.

Now I'm told that Hickok
fell dead immediately,

but I won't testify to it,

because the bullet, after it passed
through Wild Bill's brain,

struck me in my right wrist,

and I lost several seconds to pain
before regaining my senses.

Sir, you have my word
as eyewitness to the rest,

and I suppose this wound
as added proof, for the doctors

they feared crippled me
in the hand I use to write.

I will take the murderer's
bullet to my grave.

Thanks.

Aces over eights,

as I just now recall.

That is the hand
that Wild Bill had.

Sure, captain. Sure.

You like how that falls?

Sure.

- Do you like it, Flora?
- Why not?

I'd prefer you happy, honey,
but if you can't be,

you need to pretend at it
better than you're doing

or you're gonna be hungry and cold
and getting done to you for nothing outside

what you'd have made money
to live on and save up besides

if you acted the part in here.

I thought I only had to act it
with them that wanna stick it in me.

You never know
who that might be, Flora.

There you go.

I prefer you happy.

Or at least pretending better?

I think he's dead, Doc.

Could you tell the litter bearers not to make
so much of getting this one outta here?

- Has young Joey gone to dust?
- Yeah.

As flesh must,

to be restored
by the savior's return.

Oh, Mr. Bullock is back among us,

and also, also Mr. Utter.

Does Charlie know about Bill?

They were together, Mr. Bullock and he.
They'd captured Jack McCall.

I hope that's only the beginning
of what they fucking did to him.

- Gave him over to the federal authorities.
- Gave him over?

- Rendered unto Caesar.
- Jesus Christ.

Mr.-- Mr. Bullock was
struck by an Indian’s axe.

Marked like the firstborn
of Adam and Eve.

- Are you drunk?
- No.

(groaning)

- What the fuck is that?
- He's all right.

All right, Reverend.
All right, Reverend.

All right.

You're all right, Reverend.
All right.

He marks us sinful

and forgiven by confession.

All right.

He has told us and shown us.
He has told me.

All right.

You listen to me now, Reverend.

You are goddamn exhausted

and you give yourself no respite.

These seizures may owe
something to that,

but it also wouldn't surprise me

if you had a lesion
in your goddamn head

and that's what's
giving you the seizures

and generating your chats
with the goddamn Divinity.

No goddamn offense intended.

- None taken, sir.
- Now get outta here

- and get yourself some rest!
- Jane: Go on, Reverend.

Doc's tired too,

the only reason he's
talking so fucking harsh.

Could not the lesion be

the instrument of God's
instructive intention, Doctor,

if I am so afflicted?

Well, of course it could,

His ways not being ours
and so forth.

But could He not,
Reverend, just want you

getting out of here and getting
yourself some goddamn rest?

- Flora: You have to go now.
- We don't have to do nothing.

I'd pay the same price
just to sit with you.

My brother works in this place up here,
Terrance, and he keeps a hard watch.

If you wanna stick it in me again tomorrow,
you better let me go in by myself.

- What time are you gonna start?
- 11:00, I guess.

I'll be receiving around noon.

All right, Flora.
Here's a dollar anyway.

You're swell.

Evening. Evening, miss.

- You're early.
- Yes.

- I guess no luck finding your dad.
- No, no luck.

I knew you would've had a cheerier
look on your face if you had.

Let me get you a place to sit away
from these rough sumbitches.

Hey!

Do your drinking at the bar
or get the fuck out of here!

You have a seat here.

I'll get you a beverage. Do you
want a soft cider or a sarsaparilla?

- Cider if it's not a trouble.
- Soft cider.

Did she find her dad?

Her chances of finding
her dad are greater than yours

of walking out of this door upright,

unless you shut your fucking mouth.

You got it?

Swearengen's had his hand
on the tiller

far as getting dealing
with this epidemic.

- Is that so?
- The dead don't drink or chase women

must be his thinking on that subject.

That Indian fought like hell.

I'd guess you did too.

Charlie figured out
how it must have been.

The Indian had to kill me
for coming on the burial place,

and maybe it had been me too
that killed his friend,

cut his friend's head off so his friend
wouldn't have eyes to see the sunset

all those years he'd be
lying there dead.

So he had to kill me for that too.

And he couldn't before he'd laid hands on me
or the killing wouldn't be honorable.

We fought like fucking hell,
I'll tell you that much.

And I never once had the upper-hand.

It just happened out
the way it happened out.

He was just trying to live,
same as me,

and do honor to his friend and make
some fucking sense out of things.

And we wind up that way.
And I wind up after

beating him till I couldn't
recognize his face.

For Christ's sake!

That Indian saved Jack McCall's life,

- I'll tell you that fucking much.
- Not for long.

Brian MacDonald's not coming,
I want his recommendation

who should assay
that widow's claim.

- Whose?
- Swearengen's.

Shit, Seth.

Get his opinion too, who should guard
that henhouse we're gonna build.

So... are you okay?

- Yes. And you?
- Yes.

They're nice here.

And Mr. Swearengen,
he's funny as all get-out.

So what place would make
a better score?

Where I'm working.

But why not take 'em both?

- Could we have a private talk?
- Sure we can.

- Should I be armed?
- Where do you wanna talk?

Come here.

What do you think of that?

I think that son of a bitch better stop
looking evil at that little girl.

Al: So was it McCall

- improved your appearance?
- No.

Whoever got the job done,
I hope you gave as good as you got.

It's good to have you back,
with me being superstitious

and all hell breaking loose
when you left.

I'm here to talk about Mrs. Garret.

That planted her husband this morning?

I wrote a man about
coming to assay her claim,

- but he can't make it.
- Plenty of local alternatives.

I want you to nominate someone.

Do you?

So if any way his work was mistaken,
I'd be coming after you.

- You would?
- Yeah.

Since I got nothing to do
with the fucking venture,

what if I decline to make
the fucking recommendation?

Then you better hope
whoever I find does his job right,

'cause I'm still
holding you accountable.

I ain't involved.

EB Farnum offered on her claim.

Farnum's your water-boy and I know
what you've been trying to do to her.

So here you come in all nobility...

threatening me with a dire result

if the property that widow's husband

thought worthless and wanted sold

turns out not to be pinched out.

You and I know how it is,
Mr. Swearengen.

- How what is?
- She gets a square shake,

or I come for you.

What if I come for you?
Are you ready for that?

I guess I'd better be.

Then close your fucking store,
'cause being ready for me

will take care of your waking hours

and you better have someone to hand
the task off to when you close your eyes.

We understand each other.

Johnny: Al! Al!

Jesus fucking Christ!

Walk right past me, Your Holiness,

so I can shut my fucking office.

Al!

Dan:
Go on! Stare at her now!

Huh? You like fucking little girls?

Take a look at that little girl

'cause she's the last thing
you're ever gonna see.

- Stare at her now, cocksucker.
- Al: Let him down!

Let him fucking down!

(gagging)

Or should I have had him
hold him up?

You head what I said
about the widow.

Oh yes, Your Holiness.

You heard me too.

So I take it this was
a fair fucking fight, yeah?

Men:
Yeah! That's right!

- Two free drinks for everybody.
- (men cheering)

And drinks all night for them
that helps with the disposal.

Man #2:
That's me!

I'm sorry that you had to see that.

Shut the fuck up, Dan, and get her
the fuck away from here-- now!

Come on.

I'm sorry, Mr. Swearengen.

I warned him not to look at her.

I warned him.

Fucking pussy.

Jane:
That Joey passed this afternoon.

Been suffering awful.

But that frog-looking fellow left the tent

that I found up in the woods,

left the tent a fucking cure
pronounced by the doc himself.

And in the dumbest looking outfit
a grown man ever wore.

Who's there, God damn it?!

Who the hell's it look like?

How the fuck do I know who it
fucking looks like? It's dark!

Jesus Christ, come upon a person
unawares in a fucking graveyard!

I heard you was back in the camp.

I heard you and that Bullock got
the cocksucker did for Bill.

Was Bill dead
by the time you saw him?

Yeah, he was already dead.

Why did he let that
son of a bitch get to him?

I don't know, Charlie.

Anyways, people don't
scare me past speaking,

I come up here nights
tell him the fucking news.

Go ahead.

Charlie avenged
your fucking murder.

And that Bullock fella was with me
that you seemed to like.

Although it occurred to me
to wonder why they didn't do

for the cocksucker
right on the fucking spot.

Is that something we need
to get into in front of him?

You got the biggest mouth
in the territory. You talk to him.

Tell him whatever you want.

I got that mail route in Cheyenne
that we talked about.

I was bringing back supplies
to them hardware boys

and I run into that Bullock fella.

He was out there looking
for that McCall

that-- that killed you.

And he run into some heathen boy

and he had one hell of a fight.

Boy, and he just-- he got--

he got f--

he got f-f--

Fuck.

Can I--

can I tell him some more
tomorrow?

Sure. What the fuck
you asking me for?

I don't make the rules.

Wanna go back to the camp?

Please.

And what must Mr. Bullock
have been thinking

as I inflicted my personal
confidences upon him?

- I don't know.
- Nor do I.

At least he kept a decent privacy.

I have to go back to The Gem.

He's waiting for me now to tell him

yours and Mr. Bullock's
thinking about selling the claim,

and I won't be able to lie anymore.

Next I tell will be my last.

So I better just get back there.

Mr. Swearengen discovered
our deception?

- Yeah.
- How?

- Looking at you walk out the fucking hotel.
- He did not.

I was careful to see he wasn't
watching in the window.

It don't matter, Mrs. Garret.

The point is, I gotta go back.

And you need someone
to look to this child.

And with choices bigger elsewhere
and nothing I can tell to hold you here,

maybe you better think about
selling and getting out.

Would you wanna
take the girl and go?

Where?

- I have no people anywhere.
- You could go to New York.

I could have my relatives there
see you established.

What the fuck?

What would keep you here?

You wanna fuck this man?

Fuck him,
then think about the child--

Don't use that language with me,
Trixie, or that tone.

Don't you wanna say
to remember my place?

I do, you rich cunt,

and I'm going back to it.

She's about to say
her name, you know.

She named her sisters and her folks.

Think of selling.

If you took her away,
you could hear her say it.

♪ Old friend ♪

♪ All the stories to tell ♪

♪ Old friend ♪

♪ Could you have bid me farewell? ♪

♪ Ooh, old friend ♪

♪ It might be easy
for another man to see ♪

♪ Old fool ♪

♪ All the pain and the scars ♪

♪ Old fool ♪

♪ Could you lay down
your arms? ♪

♪ Old fool ♪

♪ It might be easy
for another man to see ♪

♪ But I think you still
look a lot like me. ♪