Deadwood (2004–2006): Season 2, Episode 3 - New Money - full transcript

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(soft groaning)

You want to know when
we're gonna open, Tess?

Well, we're gonna open when me
and Johnny fucking say so!

And you three, hovering around
like buzzards outside Al's door,

will not hasten the situation.

It was fucking sun up
before Al called it quits.

Now he has earned a sleeping-in.

He locks the door, Dan,
when he leaves his office.

Al does not lock the door
when he's inside.

That's just the exception
that proves the fucking rule.



I suppose.

EB: May I ask, Mr. Wolcott,
what purpose

- draws you to our Hills?
- Gold.

Gold? I see.

- Morning, Mr. Utter.
- Morning.

Frequents my buffet religiously.

Yes, I hope to locate and secure
an assortment of claims.

An assortment?

Shrewd hedging--

which makes me think
this is not your first foray.

If it was, I don't suppose
I'd admit it to you.

Only confirming
my original impression.

Get his luggage.

My staff will install
your possessions.



I thank you.

You bought provisions.

During the night... while I was
waiting for you to come home.

It's a 24-hour camp.

So I saw.

Certain things
I said yesterday I regret.

I will be grateful
if you'd not rely on them.

All right.

Representations I made
as to letters I'd written--

I didn't.

I'll be grateful then

if you not rely on my--
assurance that I got them.

All right.

I'll hold my deepest gratitude,
Mr. Bullock,

for what will let us live
as we are now.

This oatmeal looks old.

It does, doesn't it?
Richardson, God damn you!

- The oatmeal is clotted.
- It's 45 minutes yet till the three hours.

Stop spouting gibberish
and replace the damned oatmeal.

I'll make do with the bacon.

A camp like this,
one draws one's menials

from a small and brackish pool.

Once the pig is digested,

perhaps we could pursue
a possibility that's come to mind.

If the spirit still moves in you, sure.

Maybe we could do it now?

Wolcott:
No. Let's let your mind

ripen and mature
the possibility first.

The creature I saw outside
our place last night,

who you said is the camp's mayor,

now perches like a vulture
over that man at breakfast.

- Of course. Certainly.
- Farnum. He owns the hotel.

Have you affection
for Mayor Farnum?

- None.
- Good.

Because the man the mayor
expects to digest

is going to toy and play
with Mr. Farnum

from camouflage for as long
as he finds it amusing.

And then make him a meal of his own.

- Who is the man?
- A trick.

A specialist.

Who asks to be called Mr. W.

- (knocks)
- EB Farnum demanding entry.

- Summon Al.
- He's not summonable.

For the news I bear,
he'll be plenty summonable.

Why don't you go on up
and summon him yourself, EB?

Happily.

He's behind lock and key.

You're certain he's within?

Called out to my knock,
said, "Get the fuck away."

Fornication demanding
discretion or a bribe.

He's fucking alone,
and he's gonna stay that way

- until he chooses to be otherwise.
- I think he's fucking poorly.

His voice has got a gravelly timbre.

- Want to leave a message?
- In fact, I do. Yes.

"Al, if you're not dead
and already moldering,

I send news to revive you.

A fish to rival the fabled Leviathan

has swum into our waters.

Get well soon and we will land
the cocksucker together.

Your friend, EB."

You might add as a postscript,
"I also have the news

you dispatched me to secure
of the newly-arrived cunt." Please.

- You just move here?
- Just yesterday.

I watched the sheriff
build this house.

Mr. Bullock's my pa's brother,

that married my mom
when my pa got killed.

So now he's my pa and my uncle.

Big trout lives in that deep part
down there.

- Damon!
- Coming.

My pa and me are going
to grow apples in Oregon.

Will you come back?

Pa says we ain't
never coming back.

Keep your eye on that rainbow.

I call him Jumbo.

Ho hup.

Morning, William.

Morning, Mr. Bullock.

You got your gun and badge back.

I did. I put them in that basket
for you to see.

Did you fight that man again?

No. We didn't have to fight.

That boy is going to Oregon.

There's a trout that loiters
just downstream there.

The boy calls him Jumbo.

Maybe after work

we can make him pay
for his slothful ways.

(machinery clanging loudly)

Alma: Does the scope
of the find, Mr. Ellsworth,

warrant more than the five-stamp mill
we operate with now?

Ellsworth:
Oh, no question, ma'am.

Your holdings justify 25 stamps easy.

Just a matter of waiting
till the legalities get resolved.

And why would the purchase of
a larger machine await legal resolution?

Well, ma'am, 'cause without title,

you wouldn't own no quartz
for your 25-stamp machine to crush.

- Good morning, Mr. Bullock.
- Good morning.

- Good morning, Sofia.
- Good morning.

Mrs. Garret has gone
to see her claim.

Has she?

- Yes, with Mr. Ellsworth.
- I see.

She asked if I saw you,
please to give you this back.

- Sofia can learn on another watch.
- All right.

When opportunity permits,

you might inquire of Mrs. Garret,

as few children as are in the camp--

I take your meaning, Mr. Bullock.

If she decided it was appropriate,

other parties would be
delighted and grateful.

Yes, well, she will have
to decide that.

Yes.

The camp pugilist.

Fond as I am of you, Joanie,

I wouldn't have brought my girls

and my own tired ass out here

on just your kind invitation.

The trick sweetened
the prospect-- Mr. W?

Maddie: He offered on one
of my girls to bring her out here.

Being as Mr. W is chief lookout
for George Hearst--

that struck biggest
in the Comstock and Mexico--

I knew he'd just endorse
the camp's future.

Short side, Mr. W enjoys being
cranky with his women.

But sometimes when disappointed
his crankiness runs away with him.

What's gonna disappoint him?

Devious sort that I am,

I've got the girl
he's interested in on ice.

Thank you.

Mr. Wolcott, I'm the custodian--

note I do not say owner--

of Wild Bill Hickok's
final earthly communication.

It's damp.

Mr. Wolcott,

not an hour before
giving me the letter,

Bill confided to me,
having come upon a quartz deposit

promising in Bill's own words
"wealth beyond counting."

How much wealth is that?

I don't know, Mr. Wolcott.

I don't know how high
Bill could count.

- How much do you want me to pay?
- (laughing)

I'd hardly expect you
to pay anything,

imagining rather
I will pay you your cost

to see the letter

delivered to its proper recipient.

Plus $100...

set against whatever profits
you may generate...

(groans) should delivery
prove impossible...

from the information
the letter contains.

So this set-off
against profits I might gain

in the event that this letter,
proving undeliverable,

contains such valuable information,

have you an amount in mind?

$10,000.

Less the $100
you would pay me?

- Correct.
- $9900 net then, me to you.

- Yes.
- And I would pay you that now

before attempting
the letter's delivery?

Oh, yes.

Once you have the letter,
all my connection to it is severed.

I see.

To deliver it or not, or whatever
the hell you want to do.

Well, you will have
my decision shortly.

- Fine then.
- Uh, for the luggage.

Oh no. I wouldn't hear of it.
It was my great pleasure.

I trust I will, uh, hear from you soon.

I see now what it takes
to bring you back into my life.

Just passing through, Mr. Star.

Even so,

it makes a man glad he has
three limbs left to be damaged.

Seth: Morning.

A man can get me in his life
with five bucks.

$2, if he just needs a handshake.

(clears throat)
Good morning.

- Morning.
- Seth: Morning.

Trixie!

Many thanks.

Ah.

How bad does that pain?

- It's all right.
- I'm in my house, Sol.

- With Martha and the boy?
- Chose not to put 'em in the thoroughfare.

Or, I see what you're asking.

Far as her having a different opinion
possibly once I showed up--

no, she chose to stay.

Well, good.

Anyways, could you open up?

Sure. Glad to.

Any help with your person?

No, I'm all right.

Swearengen said county commissioners
are all from Yankton.

When was this?

Just before we hit the mud.

It's wrong the Hills get
no representation.

Even in an Eden like this,
wrongs sometimes occur.

I meant maybe we should try
to do something about it.

I'm with you.

Doc: God damn it, Al!

Such as they are, my arts cannot
be practiced at this remove.

Stop being a baby!

(softly)
Any secrets

that you feel need keeping
will not be betrayed by me.

Doc.

Trixie.

Rest, uninterrupted.

No visits, no exception.

From his fray with Bullock he's poorly,

or his trouble with his prick?

If you can get him
to grant you entry,

maybe you will confide that to me.

It's Trixie-- that's overheard
the doc's instruction.

So let me just shout
my information from here.

- Nobody is dead.
- (wheezing)

Bullock's gone
to that house he built.

Star is on his feet,

more or less.

Anyways,
I'm gonna stay on the ear

over to the hardware store.

Yeah.

Fucking telegraph poles, Al,

are next thing to landed
in the fucking thoroughfare.

Next leap of the creature,
they'll be here.

All right, Al.

(whimpering)

- Where's fucking Dolly?
- Fucking.

- When was she last with him?
- Daybreak,

just before he give
Bullock back his iron.

We've seen him after she did.

You brew him my fucking tea.

Put it on a tray, you take it up to him

- and make him fucking drink it.
- All right.

If he don't present himself
in a few hours,

kick down the door and get
the fucking doc in there.

I'm Lila. Welcome to the Bella Union.

I'm Francis Wolcott,

which I would be grateful
if you would tell your employer.

This is Francis Wolcott, Cy.

Cy Tolliver, Mr. Wolcott. How do you do...
and what will you drink?

- Kentucky bourbon if you've got it.
- Pour Mr. Wolcott a bourbon, Jack,

- and tell him it's from Kentucky.
- Kentucky bourbon.

- Straight up?
- Please.

Shall we have Lila drink with us,

or would you like
to drink with Lila alone?

I would rather we two
converse privately.

Just talk now, sir?
I'm not that kind of fella.

Maybe you're just waiting
for the right offer.

It's late in the game,
but I suppose anything is possible.

Will you take the air?

If I'm to lose my virtue,
I'd as soon do it outside these walls.

You approached a group in San Francisco

that does business with my employer.

That group and employer bullshit
really quickens me with fucking trust.

That group you've approached
is a fraternal Chinese organization.

"Tong" is not a clever enough word?

You offered them a contract
to send members to this camp.

That organization has a preexisting
arrangement with my employer.

So you work for who, Wolcott?
The railroads,

some mining combination that brings
those slant-eyes in by the boatload?

No, sir. I work for one man.

Jesus Christ.
Doesn't every one of us?

George Hearst.

I meant no disrespect of any kind

to you or Mr. Hearst by any word I've said
from the moment we have met.

I understand that.

I have nothing but
respect for Mr. Hearst.

He's in the Comstock and Montana,

every other place he's ever operated,
without jape or jest.

And the overture you made
to the group in San Francisco

showed imagination and foresight
and a tolerance for risk

that was impressive to Mr. Hearst.

We want to work with you here.

- You do?
- Yes, we do.

Con Stapleton, Leon!

Get over here and meet
a fucking gentleman.

Those two work for me now
among the Celestials,

setting up that miserable cocksucker
to get knocked off his high horse.

- Con, Leon.
- I don't want to meet them.

Go inside.

Meet me inside.

Yes, sir.

Yes, sir, Mr. Tolliver.

Just go on in, fellas.

My only contact is with you.

As far as they're concerned,

you and Mr. Hearst don't even exist.

As far as you're concerned, Cy,

in the tasks you'll
be performing for him,

Mr. Hearst doesn't either.

Who?

Wake up.
Take account you're indoors.

Here.

That's water now.

Get it the fuck away from me then.

Drink it and don't be stupid.

Oh, Christ, are we arrested?

I explained all this to you, Jane,

that I'm the fucking deputy,

and I fixed up the overflow cell
in case you come back.

Shut up then.

You replied I was boring the shit out of you
'cause Doc already told you all about it.

Well, evidently,
I don't remember fuck-all.

No. 'Cause after every other fucking thing
we went through last night,

you got to make us stop at that
new joint across from Nuttall's.

Would you kindly shut
your fucking mouth?

Hey, what the fuck's
Bill's coat doing here?

Well, he wouldn't have seen it
useless or a souvenir.

I figured I'd give it work
keeping the bed warm.

Uh, where is it headed

now I'm the occupant?

It ain't going anywheres.

Thank you, Charlie.

It's cool. Sit outside.

Wide knees.

Are we gonna argue?

We're partners, ain't we, Maddie?

Ain't that a lot of planning and thinking
to not let your partner in on?

Not sharing it before I even knew
the trick was in camp

don't put me wrong, Joanie.

It don't put you right,
far as an atmosphere of trust.

Joanie, was there any odds
when me and my girls got out here

that you might have told us
you'd changed your mind?

I guess there was a chance.

Or I'd have found you dead
or moved along?

No chance on moved along.

Only way to guarantee
an outcome, honey,

is contracting to be fucked.

Everything else is a chance,

including me letting you down.

But if I do, using my head
won't be the tip-off.

How will you bring the girl into it?

At the trick's fierce insistence.

What's our split?

50-50.

What's the girl's end?

I wouldn't rule out a wooden box.

Timely purchase.

That's our last in stock.

Goddamn out-thinking myself--

resupplying in smaller orders.

You've been dealing
with a few uncertainties.

If the claims get allowed or they don't,

or Yankton stacks the commissioners or not,
we're either in business or we ain't,

and if we are, you reduce costs
buying in volume.

- Your old man?
- On his death bed in fucking Vienna.

Fellas.

- On the mend?
- Doing better, thank you.

Hope you are too.

We was gonna thin these inquiries yesterday
before that trouble with Bummer Dan.

We've been gonna thin them
for several weeks.

Is Farnum's slop-house okay?

Jane is sleeping
a load off in my place.

Inquiries from other jurisdictions.

We've been somewhat remiss.

Whose that fella said
"Never put off till tomorrow

- what will wait till the day after"?
- Not my old man.

- To buy the Hickok letter.
- Wonderful.

I'll have a bill of sale.

Well, certainly, sir. Of course.

For reasons of legal nicety,

we'll say you're purchasing
the right to deliver.

You got to let me get
to your piss-pot, Al.

Otherwise, when your mood changes,

you're fucking gonna yell
at me for not doing it.

I think I should get the doc, Al.

You need to let the doc in.

You need to let him see to you.

When I was sick, the doc helped me.

And you ain't fucking yelled
since then my foot's dragging.

Fuck this, right, Doc?

- Fuck it.
- Dan!

You need to fucking
break the door down!

- Dan: Now?
- Isn’t that what I just fucking said?

- Dan: Al!
- If I was you, Doc,

I would get out of the fucking way!

Ow! Jesus fucking Christ!

- You all right?
- Mm, I think I broke my fucking shoulder.

Would you open up my case?

Al?

Al, Al?

(whimpers)

- Do we need to get him laudanum?
- Please.

All right, Al.

All right. It's all right.

Seth: "Please don't let up
on the Stackpole case,

as I'm sure he's out there."

- No idea.
- I never heard of it either.

All the portions
you had on your plate,

- I hesitated to fucking inquire.
- I couldn't have helped if you had.

Fuck the Stackpole case then,

and the letter from Arapaho County
concerning it,

which goes in the fucked-case file.

Alma: I'd like to buy
Mr. Farnum's hotel.

To do what with, Mrs. Garret?

To renovate
and make my residence.

I can think of
better locations, ma'am,

with friendlier views.

None that would offer
the further pleasure

of putting Mr. Farnum
in the thoroughfare.

I expect a man like Farnum
finds quarters pretty easy.

I would expect even
with his venality satisfied,

a man like Farnum would feel himself
dispossessed and unanchored.

I think he'd be very sad.

And I would like to see him
in that condition.

I guess most of us got enough luck

to be too broke to act
on them type ideas.

What type ideas do you refer to?

The type the lowborn would say
we get when we're pissed off.

Although...

my own aristocratic lineage

causes me to use the term
"sore-disappointed."

I am pissed off.

Well, last turns the wheel
has took for you, ma'am,

I would say you've come by it honest.

If punching somebody
in the nose would help,

I'll volunteer one
that's well broke in.

Safely returned.

- Is he here too?
- No.

He's my friend, Trixie.

Among other fucking things.

Anyways...

I wonder could you
teach me to do accounts?

All right.

I'll pay you.

Or you can take it out in cunt.

I won't teach you
if you keep that up.

Fuck every fucking one of you.

I wish I was a fucking tree.

(door slams)

Mr. Wolcott.

Mr. Farnum.

The contents of that letter
are a deep disappointment.

Not a word of any find
or promising location.

You opened it then?

Are you trifling with me?

It occurs to me, sir, this conversation
were best had elsewhere.

- But not postponed?
- Not postponed, Mr. Wolcott, no.

We are men, sir.

When we disagree,
we come to resolution promptly.

- Where are we going?
- The Gem Saloon.

- It's just over there.
- Please take your hand off my shoulder.

Some ancient Italian maxim

fits our situation,

whose particulars escape me.

Is the gist that I'm shit out of luck?

Did they speak that way then?

(Al shrieks)
Oh, for the love of God!

Please, won't you sit down?

So you would have me
take the experience

then as a lesson, dearly purchased?

EB:
I should tell you, Mr. Wolcott,

I have seen men in this very camp,

feeling themselves victimized,

seek redress in fashions
I thought imprudent.

- Violently, you mean?
- Thus, at the lesson,

dearly bought
as you would have it,

is where I would leave this business.

In any case, I was an intermediary
in this transaction.

Ah, then, having been a pupil,

it falls to you now
to instruct your principal.

I wonder, Mr. Wolcott,

if some second letter
couldn't be drafted

to put some sharper point
on the lesson,

maybe remunerative to both of us.

So your idea would be

that we fuck Mr. Hearst twice?

I missed the name, sir, but I can
aver as a general principle,

my days of fucking anyone
are long in the past--

whomever you represent.

George Hearst, of the Ophir Find
in the Comstock.

- Of course I know George Hearst.
- Oh, you know him personally?

I do not know him personally,
not personally.

- Oh.
- But of course I know of George Hearst

and his reputation
and accomplishments and wealth,

and his power and reputation.

And I would say, as well,
most importantly,

I have nothing to teach that man.

George Hearst need learn
no lesson from me.

Nor would I permit him
entrance into a lesson,

either inadvertently or by accident,

I wouldn't subsequently and immediately
cancel him back out of.

Or his agent or intermediary.

Mr. Hearst doesn't
renege on contracts.

Then what am I to do?

What am I to do, Mr. Wolcott,

but to admit a terrible
and tragic miscalculation,

supplicate myself and beg mercy

and understanding and forgiveness?

And to aver,
if you would contemplate

any separate or side transaction
or understanding...

Remove your hand from my forearm.

Do not touch me again.

I look poor,

but that is a cultivated pose
and posture.

I am not poor and I am not stingy

when fundamental interests
are at stake--

as a complete aside.

There is a service
you could do Mr. Hearst

that would set off exactly
against the funds

he might otherwise
believe you fleeced him of.

Anything, sir.

This service would enlist
you and one or two others,

circulating certain rumors
about the future of the camp.

In particular about the validity

of the present titles to the claims.

Done. Consider me enlisted.

Consider the validity
called into question.

I also wish to know the location
of your highest-end brothel.

As it happens,

a whorehouse succeeding
to that title has just opened.

Nothing just happens, Mr. Farnum.

Shhh.

Do you think this hat
makes my head look big?

No, sir.

It makes your head look
the perfect size.

Thank you.

(sighs)

You're gonna find out
something now

about yourselves
and your fellow man:

how you handle adversity--

or rumors of adversity

or ill fortune or turns of luck.

And I'm not going to further
rumor or be a party to that bullshit.

You want to know where I stand?

You just look the fuck
where I'm standing.

You'll find out all you need to know.

I ain't going anywhere!

And if anyone else wants to,
two weeks fucking severance is

waiting for you right fucking now.
You step the fuck up!

Step right the fuck up!

Now that shows me something.

But any time, day or night,

anyone wants to fucking waver
or fucking change their minds,

you just step right the fuck up
and get your severance.

Let's open the fuck up and get it
while we can, all right?

- Open up!
- Stapleton: Open up! You heard! Let's go!

What are you gonna do to him?

Pass this instrument through
his penis into his bladder.

If he has stones, it will click
against the metal instrument.

Assuming I can hear
the clicks above his screams,

I will have identified
the cause of his obstruction.

To what fucking end?

To the end that if I think
he will die otherwise

of cutting him open above the pubis
and taking out the stones.

Which will probably kill him anyways.

What shall I say to you, Trixie,

that I'm sure of a happy outcome
for Al and every one of us?

(knock at door)

Minute for us, Mr. Tolliver?

What is it?

Come in and shut the door.

What the fuck is it?

Anything you want to tell us, Mr. T?

I told you all I want to tell you outside.

Well, believe me, uh,

you don't have waverers
standing in front of you,

or doubters or, uh, anyone
looking for fucking severance.

- Just the opposite.
- What does that mean?

You looking for a raise?

Uh, well, what's going on,

I suppose is Leon's question,
Mr. Tolliver.

The truth is my questions
is answered 90%.

And as for the rest, I'm gonna
get good and fucking loaded

and let the devil take the hindmost.

If you fucking walk out of here,
us two are gonna have words.

And more than words
at my first opportunity,

because this was 90%
his idea to come in here.

Somebody better turn over a hole card.

Both of us took a real
positive impression, sir,

of the talk you give us
just recently here in your office.

Yeah, relative to this talk
you just concluded.

And?

And I guess you'd say
a wonderment with us is

if we mistook the tone
of one talk or the other,

and if so... which?

I dispute that
one fucking thing changed

between those two talks
as to my attitude and resolve.

Did the facts
of the camp situation change?

Not to my certain knowledge.

But if you're asking in the interim
have I been privy

to a rumor far as claims
being invalidated,

all titles thrown out,

the answer is yes.

Well, that would account for it.

But the only goddamn fact
that I'm aware of is

I never knew any man ate
a rumor or clothed himself with one

or secured himself a piece of pussy.

Well, rumors are not facts.

So if any gutless cocksucker
tumbles to what is going on

and decides he wants to cut and run,

sell his fucking holdings,

you tell him to come see me.

Just say Cy Tolliver will buy
whatever he's fucking selling

if he has that little faith in the camp,

or rumors of judicial invalidation,

or the panic that will ensue from that.

Go ahead, boys.
Go on outside and do your jobs.

That's all we can fucking do right now.

And not waver.

(belches)
Ah.

Now that's fucking progress.

Cocksucker upstairs,
across the way,

whorehouse where I work--

He is a fucking cocksucker.

--locks the fucking door
so people can't get to help him.

(yelling)
Fucking ashamed to be sick!

You know he had a design
to murder that little one.

No, I didn't.

Hell, yes, he had a design.

Charlie and me spirited her from camp,

forced him to a second victim more
suitable to his cocksucker's purpose.

Think they're any different if they've
had their fucking dicks cut on?

They ain't no fucking different.

You got to like their friends
or they won't teach you numbers

or every other fucking
regulation they set!

Anyways.

Far as it fucking goes,

he also brought the cripple
from that orphanage.

Uh-- what orphanage?

And don't buy his bullshit
about the 9¢ trick.

- What cripple?
- Jewel,

that he says he's got around

against some hoople-head

only having 9¢ and wanting
a piece of pussy.

That ain't it.

Why she's around is...

it's his sick fucking way
of protecting her.

I'm gonna get whiskey.

There's entries on both side
of the fucking ledger

is the fucking point,

as I already talk like a fucking Jew!

Shaping up to be a nice cool evening.

Maybe he has a good side to him too
that I entirely fucking missed.

It's always fucking possible,

drunk as I am
fucking continuously.

It's nice to see you.

- You returned his timepiece.
- Yes.

I thought I had told you.

You did, Miss Isringhausen.

I'm recurring to the topic,

hoping you will be
more expansive.

He accepted
the timepiece, ma'am,

and raised another subject

you and I ought pursue
at some different moment.

Must I credit the right
of that "ought," Miss Isringhausen,

or may I suspect
you enjoy setting terms?

Terms, ma'am?

Playing arbiter of the when
and why of things.

Pursuing the second subject
Mr. Bullock raised, Mrs. Garret,

might upset a person now present
junior to you and me.

I cannot imagine how such a pursuit

could be any more upsetting
than the atmosphere

of relentless disapproval
that you so consistently generate.

I've no further need of your services,
Miss Isringhausen.

I'll say goodnight then
to you and Sofia.

My preference is
your saying goodbye.

I wonder, ma'am,

if having made
so many decisions so quickly,

your patience may be short just now.

And I'd appeal to you to reconsider
your preferences in the morning.

In any case, you'll want
to retire to your room.

I hope you'll recall that
I've traveled from Chicago

to enter your employ
and have no emergent prospects.

We'll come to some arrangement.

All right.

I'll say goodnight then.

Alma: As is your custom--

without having spared
one affectionate look for my child.

My training, ma'am,

is that being engaged to see
to the child's education,

my soliciting her affections

would intrude
on the mother's province.

And I would call that
a logical distinction,

Miss Isringhausen, having nothing
to do with the way people live.

(door shuts)

The people downstairs are scared.

Are they?

Off your talk.

They think you believe
the camp's in jeopardy.

I ain't answerable
for misinterpretations.

The truth is, Lila,

the weather is getting better

and it looks to stay mild a spell.

(laughing)

Old Cy has outlasted
the cocksuckers one more time.

If it was in me to kid myself,

I'd take this
for proving God loves me.

- (laughing)
- I believe He loves us.

Do you, sweetheart?

Did His hand lead me
buying and turning you out?

That's a lovely thought.

Next you're in touch,
would you put the good word in?

I do.

I pray for you every night.

All right, stupid,

time to shut your fucking mouth.

Shut your fucking mouth now

and turn over and close your eyes.

Lift your leg.

Languid and open for adventure.

In your case, Atlantis,
present the tits a little more.

Can you hold that
for half an hour?

I've been holding this
my whole fucking life.

- Mr. W.
- Hello.

You jumped the gun
on our opening by half an hour,

but I believe we can
make an exception.

My partner Joanie.

- How do you do?
- How do you do?

Our caller fancies
Basil's Bourbon, Joanie,

which is hid beneath
the floorboard at the bar.

All right.

Won't you sit?

I don't know that I will.

- Where is she?
- Carrie's been detained.

Detained?

You don't need me telling you
Carrie's mind's her own.

We hit Cheyenne and she
stopped to see a relative.

Basil Hayden hid beneath
the floorboards as advertised.

Would you get out
of my sight, please?

How close a relative is
she fucking in Cheyenne?

- She's coming soon, Mr. W.
- Is her arrival imminent?

- A matter of days.
- How many days are in a matter?

Would fucking something else
fill the time?

Yeah, how much you cost?

I ain't for sale, sir.
But I would fuck you for free.

- I have to say you ain't my type.
- Do you stand there, Mr. W,

saying you're dead solid sure
you'll not ever again be surprised

till you've completed
your earthly course?

Ain't that presumptuous, sir?

And ain't our quoted fee,
to surprise you, fair and just?

I always pay for pussy.

Well, I may let you then,
if you go ahead and twist my arm.

You pay extra for that?

Do unhand me.

I, Mr. W who I just unhanded

and Mr. Basil Hayden
do not wish to be disturbed.

You want me back where I was?

She kills that fucking cocksucker,

I'm gonna be working
for the rest of my life.

Richardson, Richardson,
Richardson.

When will come the quiet hours
of our declining years?

I'm talking to you, dimwit.

I wasn't listening.

Richardson,
won't you sit yourself?

Allow me to take up your labors.

I am confiding that turbulence,

upheaval of the most violent sort,

churning seas,
waves of a scale and force

to make the most seasoned
seafarer vomit-- bleah--

are in prospect for this camp.

And, we, Richardson-- you, I

and tragically others--

so very many others

who journeyed to the Hills
to stake their claims,

and with those claims
their hopes for the future--

are but pawns of the savage sea

and playthings of the fucking deep.

Not for us, apparently,

the placid harbor,
on which voyages near complete

to bob and rot, bob and rot,

becalmed.

For us, to the very end,

the dizzying surges of the storm

and its crashing descents!

Do you understand me,
you repulsive lout?

- No.
- The claims, Richardson.

They're being overturned.

Save those few
who dispose of their holdings

before word circulates.

Destitution looms!

Oh dear.

Yes yes. Even you
now recognize the situation.

Ah well.

Take the rest of the night off,
Richardson.

Thank you, sir.

But confide in no one!

About the claims!

Would we have even more fun naked?

Or I could
and you could stay dressed.

Or the opposite.

Who am I?

You're Mr. W.

Your boss struck bigger than anyone
in the Comstock and Mexico.

So you being here puts a shine
to this camp's prospects.

Unbutton my shirt.

Yes, sir.

Do not look at my face.

No, sirree.

Shall I tell you who I work for?

As you wish.

If you do, how shall I occupy myself
while you're doing it?

The same as if I don't.

For me to judge?

As you wish.

Your shirt buttons are
your big interest?

Or shall we advance
to these buttons here?

And shall I hazard an approach
I rarely find ill-received?

No.

Shall I hazard an approach on myself
I never remember refusing?

And will you supervise closely?

Mr. W, I am gonna take that as a yes.

No. Take it as a no.

(sighs)

Nuts!

(chuckles)

What a tiny corner of operation
for such an amusing mind.

I'll promise as I sojourn here

to bring you stories
of the world of men.

I'll just be here in my girl's world
diddling myself.

I admire you coming armed.

- Hmm.
- (Al panting)

I'm gonna pass this through
your penis up into your bladder, Al,

and I'm gonna say this to you once--

I'm sorry for how it hurts.

(wheezing)

Goddamn it, hold him still!

(screaming)
Mother of God!

(Al screaming)
Help me! Mother of God!

Fuck you, Johnny!
Get in there and fucking help him!

What am I supposed to do?

Trixie:
Put your hand in his mouth!

Let him bite your fucking hand!

All right, Al.
I'm in your bladder.

I can hear the fucking stone.

I'm gonna try now
to move the stone

to release your water,
so you push now if you can, son.

(gags, straining)

(yelling)
Oh God!

- Mother, take me!
- Push now if you can.

- Get your water flowing.
- I'm trying!

Help me. Christ!

(Al screaming)

I'll fucking kill you, Doc!

- You take it out of him!
- Doc: Shut up!

(Al screaming)

All right.

I can see some fucking urine
with the blood.

Good for you.

Is he all right now?
Is he cured now?

It's fucking something, anyway.

Is that something
anyway, Doc?

All right, Al, I'm gonna
take it out of you.

You hold on
and it won't hurt so bad.

(screaming)

He put something out
of himself, Trixie.

Now that's something anyway.

Is it out of him?

Well, that instrument is out of him.

And what of the fucking stone?

I didn't see
no fucking stone come out.

- (blues music playing)
- ♪ The man I love ♪

♪ Is nothing but skin and bones ♪

♪ The man I love ♪

♪ Is nothing
but skin and bones ♪

♪ Next big money I make ♪

♪ To hot springs he's goin' ♪

♪ He used to tramp
on my feelings ♪

♪ Make my poor heart moan ♪

♪ Used to tramp on my feelings ♪

♪ Make my poor heart moan ♪

♪ Now he's down sick ♪

♪ He's nothing but skin and bones. ♪