Deadwood Transcript: Season 3 Episode 27

"True Colors"

(Open at Al's office. Al is sitting at his desk, scratching his bandaged hand, which appears to be missing it's middle finger. There's a knock at the door.)

Al: Yeah. (Trixie enters)

Trixie: When did you turn recluse?

Al: You and the Jew settled in?

Trixie: The Jew's a born fuckin' householder. Scouts furniture in the fucking catalogues mornin' and night. The Mrs. Ellsworth's a 10-day miracle. Up and about and up and fucking doing. Meets with fucking Hearst today, her and fucking Ellsworth, that I'd have thought would have steered her fucking clear.

Al: Hearst's invite?

Trixie: Lady's bright idea. I've pretext enough if you'd have me call to dissuade her.

Al: Don't you get in the fucking middle. (He gets up and walks to the window.)

Trixie: Jesus fucking Christ, Al. She might as well set herself afire. (pauses) I can't imagine that cocksucker got to you. (Al looks at her) Or you're folding your fucking tent. The last shot ain't yet fired.

Al: Stage is coming, (He opens the balcony door and they go outside to watch the stagecoach arrive. Attop the stage sits Wu and a very large black woman. Wu is wearing a new suit, one that doesn't fit very well)

Trixie: My God, look at Wu. Lost his mind in San Francisco.

Al: You think he married the nigger?

Trixie: I'm talking about his suit.

Merrick: (On the street, approaching the stage) Mr. Blazanov!

Blazanov: (Stepping from the stage) Merrick!

(Al looks up the street, and spots a group of coaches approaching. The wagons and horses are adorned with advertising: "Langrishe's Troupe" Al looks this over and seems to recognize it)

Al: Oh God.

Jack Langrishe: (Pointing up at Al from the custom coach) I am barely speaking to you.

Trixie: Who the fuck is that?

Jack: A shabby, shabby exit from Virginia City. No "Farewell, Jack." No "By your leave." Nothing.

Al: (to Jack) Did you notice I was being pursued?

Blonde Actress: Is that us over there?

Jack: That is we, my dear, yes. I will install us momentarily. (to a second woman) Countess.

Countess: I stay till the costumes come down.

Jack: Admirable. Only the most minimal of civilities. "Hello, how are you?" "A bit warmer today than Tuesday." That last may be too forgiving. (Al watches the troupe walk away.)

(Hearst has come out of the hotel, and greets the black woman)

Hearst: Aunt Lou!

Lou: Hey.

Hearst: (laughs) Good to see you. (They hug)

Trixie: Hearst's meals are about to improve.

Hearst: Come on in.

Lou: Okay. (Merrick helps a woman in red down from the stage coach)

Al: (to Trixie) Go away. Stay close to the Jew. If it's Ellsworth apprising you of the widow, let him fucking continue and do likewise for me.

Trixie: That's more fucking like it.

(Doc's cabin, Alma is seated on a table, buttoning up)

Doc: Very considerate of you to come to me when I thought I was coming to you.

Alma: As I was feeling well, I thought you'd agree the exercise might be beneficial. Does your examination confirm my suspicions — as to how I'm feeling?

Doc: It does. You seem fully recovered.

Alma: I'm delighted to be recovered. And to find my own judgments reliable.

Doc: (coughs) I would, however, advise against rushing back into things.

Alma: (Putting on her hat) Would any meeting between us be complete, Doctor, until I'd had your counsel against something? (Alma is being unusually perky)

Doc: Have you finished taking the medicine I gave you?

Alma: Implying what, Dr. Cochran?

Doc: I'm implying nothing, Mrs. Ellsworth. I'm putting a question to you.

Alma: (putting on her gloves) I disposed of the medicine you gave me, Dr. Cochran, knowing I had a weakness for it, without having finished taking it.

Doc: I see.

Alma: You seem incapable of crediting me as a full and normal person.

Doc: I credit you as exactly that, Madam, which is to say as having limits like the rest of us, and to urge upon you the humility of not asking more of yourself than is reasonable. And I'd add my observation that refusal to make such adjustment sometimes is symptom in women of an inadequate recovery from the rigors you've just endured.

Alma: You say this as my physician?

Doc: Yes.

Alma: Not my reprover or rebuker?

Doc: No.

Alma: (smiling) Then thank you, Doctor, and good morning.

(Hearst's room, Lou is straightening up the room.)

Lou: You ain't getting' no cobbler, Mr. Hearst, till I get my hands on them boots.

Hearst: (Untying his boots quickly) Uh, here they come. Here they come.

Lou: Not one spoonful till I got 'em clean. (Pulls off one boot, shakes it out and sighs) Filthy.

Hearst: It's frontier living out here, Aunt Lou.

Lou: Where I go, ain't no frontier. I bring some standards with me. (pulls off the second boot.)

Hearst: Ah... I miss Missouri yet, Aunt Lou. Wasn't the world peak of ripe back then? Didn't even the birds seem to sing different?

Lou: (rolls her eyes slightly) More like they meant it. (She's heard this before)

Hearst: More like they meant it. You understand.

Lou: I don't suppose you operate another pair in secret.

Hearst: You know I wouldn't fib.

Lou: Then I'll brush 'em up directly.

Hearst: I got you living right here in the building, Aunt Lou. I wouldn't even think about any other arrangements.

Lou: (Again rolling her eyes) Mightly generous, Mr. Hearst. Mighty brave.

Hearst: Will you take a walk, see the camp?

Lou: I'll take a walk as far as my kitchen.

Hearst: (chuckles) I should have known you'd say that.

Lou: You want that peach cobbler, don't you?

Hearst: I do for a fact. And they know downstairs, who's boss.

Lou: Is this here a rich place, Mr. Hearst?

Hearst: Oh, very, very rich, Aunt Lou. For pure scale, maybe the richest find I've seen.

Lou: Guess we can live without them birds then. (Hearst chuckles, Aunt Lou walks out. Hearst lays back in his bed.

(Al's office, Al opens the door to Mr Wu)

Al: The high points of the fucking high points of your trip, Wu. (Mr. Wu sits at the desk and starts to sketch. Al shuts the door.) 'Cause I won't be able to follow you anyway.

Mr Wu: Wu. San Francisco.

Al: You look like a fucking idiot, if no one has yet conveyed to you the truth.

Mr Wu: Wu, San Francisco, Hearst.

Al: Yeah, you in San Francisco, collecting workers for Hearst.

Mr Wu: Ho.

Al: How soon, fucking Wu? (Mr. Wu frowns at Al, not understanding) The many Chinks in Hearst's employ?

Mr Wu: Huh? (Confusion again. Al walks to the door and opens It, he pantomimes welcoming many chinks)

Al: "Hello, hello, hello, hello!" The many chinks here, huh? (pulls out a pocket watch) How soon?

Mr Wu: Ah! (holds up both hands) 10 Day.

Al: "10-Day, Wu." (smiles) Clever cocksucker. You come back with more fucking English.

Mr Wu: (smiles with pride) Ho.

Al: (Sitting down across from Wu) Now once I get my ducks in order, you will give your information to Hearst in a dit-down, so we can gauge his attitude toward me.

Mr Wu: Wu, Hearst, "Swedgin."

Al: And "Swedgin" must act as translator, as he is the only one in camp versed in both languages.

Mr Wu: Ho. (Al takes out the Chinese plate that Wu gave him in Season 2, points to the map of China on it)

Al: Chung Kuo. Am I right or am I fucking wrong?

Mr Wu: Chung-Kuo.

Al: Chung-Kuo, Heng-Dai.

Mr Wu: (standing) Heng-Dai.

Al: Heng-Dai, Chung Kuo. And I'll tell you when the meeting is, huh? (He pats him on the back and walks to the door, opening it. Mr. Wu gathers his papers and walks to the door, pausing in front of Al.) Welcome home, Wu. (He smiles)

Mr Wu; Mmm. (Bows his head and leaves)

(Ellsworth house, Sofia is alone in the middle of the living room floor with a doll. We hear an argument from upstairs)

Ellsworth: It's arrogance, nothing more to Goddamn less.

Alma: Do not use profanity, please, speaking to me.

Ellsworth: For goodness sake. Apologizing for my language, I ask you consider my meaning.

Alma: It hardly seems arrogant to me to seek an equitable and mutually beneficial resolution with Mr. Hearst.

Ellsworth: Then spare him that paper with your pretty ideas. Tell him your price for how much you'll sell, because Hearst don't let his partners set policy.

Alma: I hadn't realized you were so intimate with his business methods.

Ellsworth: Please don't be smart with me. Not about this.

Alma: "This," Mr. Ellsworth, being the question of my mine?

Ellsworth: Well, what in the hell else would it be?! (Sofia is listening downstairs, look sad) Excuse me.

Alma: I will meet with Mr. Hearst. I'll be delighted if you should choose to accompany me.

Ellsworth: Oh, I ain't one to miss a train wreck.

Alma: (standing up) Though if you cannot forbear from patronizing me, I'd prefer you didn't come at all. (walks past him)

Ellsworth: All right, Mrs. Ellsworth, all right.

(Gem saloon, Al is behind the bar. Davey hands him a bottle. Merrick is at the bar)

Davey: Empty. You sure you don't want me to work behind here, boss?

Al: If I wanted you working behind here, you'd be fucking working behind here. Fucking work over there.

Merrick: It occurs to me, Al, as you and he are so evidently well-acquainted, the decent interval that Mr. Langrishe is owed to make his domestic arrangements I might spend hearing you talk of him.

Al: Ever wonder if you expressed yourself more directly, Merrick, you might fucking weigh less?

Merrick: I see no logic in that whatever.

Al: I don't want to talk of Langrishe. He makes me fucking nervous.

Merrick: On what account?

Al: I can't say on what account. That type, the type you don't know exactly how you feel about him is who you're made nervous by. (Langrishe enters)

Jack: Young man! (Looking around the room) Keeping the wolf away, I see. (Merrick grins at Langrishe)

Al: Jack.

Jack: (To Merrick) John Langrishe, sir. The operator has the manners of a pig.

Merrick: (chuckles) A. W. Merrick, Mr. Langrishe, publisher of "The Deadwood Pioneer."

Jack: Ah! Accounted for the halo I see above you.

Al: Shit blizzard's early today.

Jack: He takes his tone with you as a familiar.

Merrick: Oh, we're well-acquainted, Mr. Swearengen and I.

Jack: (nodding to Merrick) Mmm, new friends, (nodding to Al) old campaigners.

Al: The infrequent bloody win.

Jack: Always superfluous, bloodshed. The deeper damage is best. (drinks) Ahh! (Merrick laughs)

(Grand Central, Richardson and E.B are behind the counter)

EB: Candidly, Richardson, as I imagine you foraging for berries and grubs, and flicking at insects with your sticky tongue, I feel a certain dismay.

Richardson: What are you talking about?

EB: You are to be discharged, fool. As, I suspect in a wink of time, once some stage from a different direction arrives with my replacement, am I.

Richardson: What did we do wrong?

EB: Your error, surprisingly enough, is not to be a grotesque of inconceivable stupidity, but that you are white and male and not repulsively obese. As for my own, I wonder if it lies in an excessive courtesy and eagerness to please. (Hearst descends the stairs) Shoo, skunk. Shoo. Go, go. (Richardson exits to the back room.) Mr. Hearst.

Hearst: Farnum, have you a moment for us to talk?

EB: I do. I'd ask only that you be brief and forbear from false camaraderie. (EB is feigning disinterest by examining the desk very closely. Hearst looks at him in wonder) Come, Hearst. I've seen the Ethiope. Who indeed could miss her? And even as she supplants Richardson, what person, I wonder, of what depraved exotic origin have you engaged to take my place?

Hearst: I hadn't thought of replacing you. Do you want me to? (E.B. freezes)

EB: The world begins to dance before my eyes.

Hearst: As for Richardson, Aunt Lou will be taking his position, but he can keep doing whatever else it is that he does with no reduction in wage.

EB: What a surprising and gratifying turn. (Two guests walk down the stairs and out the door.) Paid through Tuesday. That one's paid through Thursday.

Hearst: Having secured your approval as to my hiring plans, I wonder now if I might elicit the information I came for, which is in regard to Mrs. Ellsworth.

EB: I am abjectly at your disposal.

Hearst: For some time, without the unseemliness of approaching her directly, I have sought without success to generate a connection with Mrs. Ellsworth.

EB: A haughty cunt. Formerly weak for dope. Most fundamentally a sexual peccant, though I'm sworn against providing specifics.

Hearst: (pauses) Now, as it seems of her own volition, Mrs. Ellsworth appoints to meet with me, leading me to wonder what change in her situation prompts her approach.

EB: I will look into that, Sir, vigorously and immediately.

Hearst: (under his breath) You don't know.

EB: I do not know at present.

Hearst: Just send her up when she gets here.

EB: I can seek the knowledge out. I can pursue it as a first priority.

Hearst: (walking up the stairs) Just send her the fuck up.

EB: All right, Sir. And may I say... (Richardson opens the door) how delighted I am our relation is to continue?

(E.B. gives Richardson a thumbs up. Richardson returns it with a double thumbs up and a smile. )

(Gem saloon, Langrishe is showing Merrick a few moves with is feet, he laughs. Al looks on)

Al: (to Merrick) Why don't you see to your type?

Merrick: Excuse me?

Al: Type. Don't you use type to print out your words?

Merrick: Uh, well, I'd hoped to secure from Mr. Langrishe—

Jack: I want copious discourse between us, Mr. Merrick. Where shall I find you soon?

Merrick: Well, we could speak now if you wish.

Jack: No, not now, young man. Not immediately. But soon. Very, very soon. Where is your lair, that I may beard you?

Merrick: (chuckles) My lair adjoins the Gem.

Jack: Wonderful.

Merrick: I can be bearded there most hours.

Jack: Fine.(They both laugh)

Merrick: Uh,uh, Thank you very much. Thank, uh, very nice to meet you, Sir.

Jack: Ah, the camp is lucky to have you.

Merrick: Uh, no way, actually, you would know that.

Al: Go on there, Merrick. Get away.

Merrick: Oh, incessant and unrelenting, exactly that type of banter. I'll just go out the front. You know, I could go out that way (looks up), but I—I'll—(clears throat and exits through the front.)

Al: You're looking fucking well, Jack.

Jack: It's the learning fucking nothing, Al, that keeps me young.

(Hearst's room, he is opening the door to the Ellsworths.)

Hearst: Please. I hope you'll forgive the disarray. I seem to feel a greater priority about making space for myself than adorning the space I've made. (Alma nods) Refreshments?

Ellsworth: No.

Hearst: I must say I feel less the grown man just now than a boy from Missouri. My Aunt Lou Marchbanks has come to camp.

Alma: Is your Aunt's visit a surprise?

Hearst: No. Heavens no, no. I—expecting my stay to be brief, I left her at other diggings.

Alma: Your Aunt Lou prospects, too?

Hearst: My Aunt's my nigger cook.

Alma: I see.

Hearst: Wonderful, wonderful cook. And a tyrant, of course, as the best ones always are. I quite quake before her.

Alma: Do you?

Hearst: About our conversation too, wanting so awfully much we come to an agreement.

Ellsworth: Don't disappoint him, being as he's 12 with his Aunt in camp.

Hearst: I've learned that we shared time in the Comstock, Mr. Ellsworth. I'm sorry we didn't meeti.

Ellsworth: Whatever's toward what he wants. Not a flying fuck if it's true or how fucking soaked in blood.

Alma: That talk serves no purpose.

Ellsworth: What talk to a murderer does?

Hearst: I'd not be insulted in my own rooms, Mr. Ellsworth.

Ellsworth: Where shall we go for me to do it?

Alma: Will you be in this afternoon, Mr. Hearst? (Ellsworth gets up)

Ellsworth: There's bodies in here.

Hearst: I certainly can be. (Alma nods)

Ellsworth: The walls are down to make room for 'em. I see every fucking one! (Alma gets up, Hearst stands as well.)

Alma: Perhaps we could speak later then.

Hearst: I will look forward to that.

Ellsworth: You don't look forward to nothing far as her, you murdering cocksucker. You hear me?

Hearst: (putting out his hand to Alma) I'm very glad to have met you.

(They shake hands, Ellsworth in a rage. Alma pushes him out the door and they leave)

(In the street, Alma turns to Ellsworth.)

Alma: I recognize, perhaps as I never fully recognized before, how profoundly you feel about him.

Ellsworth: I know him.

Alma: I will present my offer to him.

Ellsworth: You will not. I will not permit it.

Alma: You behave in his rooms as virtually a maniac and now assert your superior prerogative?

Ellsworth: I forbid you, yes. (She turns her back to him, takes a deep breath, turns back around)

Alma: Well, I suppose that settles it. (She turns and walks off, he follows)

Ellsworth: I know him.

Alma: May I ask you to collect Sofia once you've seen me home?

Ellsworth: Do you understand? In ways you can't.

Alma: Mr. Ellsworth, you hardly need explain yourself to me, your wife, in the thoroughfare, having once laid down the law.

(Utter Freight/Jail house Two Cornishmen are sitting in the cell with Bullock talking to them. One of them was present at the murder of the Cornishman in the Gem. Charlie is across the room talking to the 2 men who witnessed the murder of Hearst's henchmen at the Gem. The familiar Cornishman is crying and telling a story in Cornish to the other, while he interprets to Seth. The men with Charlie are watching the Cornish)

Charlie: Hey. Look at me! Talk to me.

Interpreter: (To Seth) He said they come up in cage. The guard was behind Jory. The guard wait for air change. First breath from above, he push Jory to the wall, catch his legs and cut them off.

Seth: He saw it?

Interpreter: Jory was organizing. That's why they push him to the wall. (The foremen are escorted outside by Charlie, one turns to the crying Cornishman and addresses him.)

Foreman: We're awful sorry.

Seth: Get the fuck away from him!

Charlie: Get out of here go ahead. Get on. (looks at Seth) Accident. (The Cornishman continues to cry.)

Interpreter: Another friend, he says, was shot days ago in bar.

Seth: At the Gem.

Interpreter: The friend talked union too. Jory and him were in the bar when he was shot. Now they're dead. Pasco says he'll be next. (They both cry. Seth walks over to Charlie, who hands him the foremen's statements.)

Seth: Tell them they can go when they're done crying. Make them understand I was only talking to him.

(Gem saloon, Al and Jack are exiting via the back door)

Al: Hole in the building's front wall. He can pop out at any moment.

Jack: Hearst.

Al: I'd not have him see us together.

Jack: Prudent. (Al holds up his bandaged hand and looks at it)

(Jack approaches the pigpen.) Ah, bacon.

Al: Might have a bit of a human aftertaste.

(Jack looks amused.)

Jack: Lurid with Chinese.

Al: No one suggests a theater here.

Jack: Only observing, turning you outward.

Mr Wu: (shouting at two men in Chinese)

Al: Boss of the neighborhood. Won a war to take over. (Jack bows slightly to Mr. Wu. Mr. Wu returns the gesture.)

Jack: One hopes you are his backer and not his tailor. (Al holds up his bandaged hand again, showing it to Jack.)

Al: You're the first I've fucking revealed this to. Fucking throbs all the way up.

Jack: Goes with me to the grave. (Al blows on the hand.)

Al: Yeah. (They walk on, Jack tips his hat to a passerby) You fucking tip your hat to everybody?

Jack: Everybody.

(Hardware store, Sol is intently studying a furniture catalogue. He quickly conceals it when Seth enters)

Sol: Morning. (Seth nods) We're low on our hardware, just doing the order.

Seth: Dogs. For him to laugh at while we chase our tails. (Sol nods) I'm gonna write it up anyway. Hearst's phony fucking accident, I'm gonna present it to him and put him on notice. (Sol looks bewildered, and looks back down to his catalogue.)

(Doc's place, he's talking with Trixie.)

Doc: I'm concerned about Mrs. Ellsworth, Trixie.

Trixie: If concerned means "Is she using?"... (lights a cigarette) I don't think she is.

Doc: I don't either.

Trixie: Then why'd you ask if she was?

Doc: I didn't. You just took me for asking that. (He coughs and tries to clear his throat)

Trixie: Ask the one you want to then.

Doc: (sighs) I'm concerned that her temperament is — (stifling a cough) is labile. (coughs)

Trixie: (confused, laughs and seems concerned about Doc) I guess that means she's talking through her cunt?

Doc: Her moods seem inappropriately variable. (serious coughing)

Trixie: Saying "variable," I don't disagree. I said so myself this morning to somebody else. (Doc coughs heavily) Did I fucking embarrass you, Doc, that you go so fucking red? (continues coughing) Don't throw a fit, Doc. Look, I'll put it out.

(She stamps out the cigarette. Doc coughs up some bloody phlegm, catching it in his hands, Trixie is horrified. He waves her out, and she leaves.)

(In the street, Al and Jack continue their tour of the camp., They approach the Ellsworth house)

Al: This is new. This entire area is recent. The Ellsworth house, the richest claim nest to Hearst, that woman.

Jack: What sort of plays does she favor?

Al: Oh, Christ, she told me and I fucking forgot. Goes through her men like Sherman to the fucking sea. This — can't remember who this fucking belongs to.

Jack: And who does this fucking belong to? (He waves to a large open area between the buildings, sort of a circle in the middle of the street)

Al: Well, I guess this belongs to fucking everybody. (Jack nods, they continue their walk.) The Bullock house. Fucking Sheriff. Insane fucking person.

(Back at the Hardware Store, Seth is done writing up his notice and starts to leave)

Seth: The one at Swearengen's, too, I'll put him on notice about. (Trixie walks in, she looks at Sol and steps to the side.) I'm gonna put him on notice about it all. (Seth leaves)

Trixie: (angry) Wouldn't be looking for anyone coming through the wall to deal with your Johnson. (She starts to roll up a cigarette) And don't you try fucking coming to my side either, or your Jew head will be wearing that fucking dresser as a tiara.

Sol: All right.

Trixie: We're supposed to read your mind, understand what you fucking mean.

Sol: I mean... all right.

Trixie: Shut the fuck up. "Please don't smoke" means "I'm at death's fucking door."

Sol: You can smoke. (She lights up her cigarette) I'd prefer... if you did it outside.

Trixie: You're a fucking idiot, anyways. (She flicks the cigarette to the floor and leaves.)

(Al and Jack continue their walk.)

Al: (looking at his hand) Pus is a deeper yellow. Aw, cocksucker. What are you staring at? (looks at a hoople on the boardwalk) Fucking boot fits, huh? (They approach the Grand Central. Merrick steps out from his newspaper office, he spies them and looks very anxious for them to come his way)

Jack: Home base, young man.

Al: There's the whole fucking area on the other side.

Jack: I'm quite worn out.

Al: I fucking started this job, I'll fucking finish it. (He points up to the roof of the Grand Central) This motherfucker.

Jack: Al... (waves to all the hooples watching him from the street) It's not the first impression I'd make. (He steps up to the porch of the Grand Central and turns to Al.) Heartfelt thanks. (Al rubs his bandages, and walks away. Jack starts to turn into the hotel but instead steps past the doorway, continuing on by himself. Merrick is watching and looks disappointed)

(Hearst's room, Seth is there. Seth stands as Hearst reads the reports)

Hearst: With such disagreement among the statements, Mr. Bullock, on what basis could an inquiry justifiably go forward?

Seth: I put you on notice, Mr. Hearst. I identify a pattern in these events. (Hearst taps the table and stands up)

Hearst: Unless some law is broken, Mr. Bullock, whose sanctions you have power to apply, why in fuck should I care what pattern you identify or don't?

Seth: There is a sanction against murder.

Hearst: The man lost his legs in a shaft. It happens quite often.

Seth: I now learn that your worker who died in the Gem last week was killed by two of your guards.

Hearst: I defy you to prove that event, about which the two of us have spoken, was murder. Whereas, in the same saloon nine days ago, two guards of mine, giving no provocation, had their throats cut with two others of my guards as witness. Certainly, the guards who survive are capable of naming the killers. Shall I have them make complaint? (He drinks a shot and slams the shot glass on the table, looking up at Seth.) I put you on notice. (Hearst turns away and goes to his desk in the next "room", then stis with his back to Seth)

(Telegraph office, Blazanov is working on some new equipment as Merrick watches)

Blazanov: Many new people are in the camp, Mr. Merrick.

Merrick: And a very eventful time we had during your absence, Mr. Blazanov. You and I will have much to discuss in our evening perambulations. (A spark jumps from one of the instruments that Blazanov has just touched, Merrick jumps.) Oh God.

Blazanov: Okay. Main line coil, artificial line coil,... (tapping) new armature lever, separate battery, supplementaries. All new contrivances I was instructed about in Chicago. Without this many innovations, differential duplex would no be possible.

Merrick: Differential duplex? (confused)

Blazanov: Can you speakin a high voice, Mr. Merrick?

Merrick: I can speak in a low voice.

Blazanov: (high voice) Blazanov then will speak in high voice. (Merrick looks more confused) Keep speaking on in your low voice while Blazanov, at the same time, speaks highly. (Merrick starts to speak) his is duplex telegraphy.

Merrick: (low voice) From this point on, I shall speak in my low voice.

Blazanov: (high voice) Both messages sent at the same time... from the same office at different voltages.

Merrick: (low voice) Excuse me, but I can't understand you when we both talk at once.

Blazanov: (high voice) And recorded elsewhere by instruments with appropriate sensitivities.

Merrick: (still does not understand) Well, I—I won't keep you from your work. (Blazanov seems surprised)

Blazanov: Mr. Merrick?

Merrick: Hmm?

Blazanov: I met a girl in Chicago.

Merrick: Oh, yes? (very interested)

Blazanov: Also for our... perambulations.

Merrick: Hmm. Yeah. (he turns and leaves)

(Bella Union, Cy's disheveled room. Hearst is addressing a sitting Cy.)

Hearst: Seeing you on your balcony the other night, Mr. Tolliver, taking in the life of the camp, I thought maybe it was time we had a talk.

Cy: I regret we have to meet in this environment, Sir.

Hearst: Not at all.

Cy: No. Changes that have gone on here, (taps his chest) it's not the place I'd be seen in by you.

Hearst: I'm sure whatever changes you allude to, Mr. Tolliver, will come clear from your behavior.

Cy: Fresh start. (chuckles) How many men would be grateful for that opportunity? (Puts his hand on his Bible, ceremoniously.)

Hearst: (nodding to the bible) Do you have more you wish to do with that, or shall I state my business?

Cy: Please, state your business.

Hearst: Your letter from Mr. Wolcott naming me as having knowledge of his misdeeds.

Cy: A letter I mentioned to you, yes, in a conversation I regret.

Hearst: 5% of my holdings I recall as your demand, or you would circulate the letter's contents.

Cy: Exactly what I regret and now find reprehensible and why I thank God that you take a new look at me.

Hearst: To this point, Mr. Tolliver, you make no materially different impression. Still lying, still bullshitting.

Cy: I hope I'm not, Sir, but I—I can certainly understand why that would be your material second impression.

Hearst: Shall I show you the letter from Mr. Wolcott that I have in my possession?

Cy: That's not necessary from my point of view. You tell me you've got it, I believe you.

Hearst: Here it is. (pulls a letter from his jacket) Will you compare it to your letter? Verify its authenticity?

Cy: It's not necessary.

Hearst: Shall I read to you certain pertinent sections on Wolcott's assay of your nature and likely behavior after his death? (Cy closes his eyes and folds his hands under his chin as if to pray) His detailing your complicitous participation in the aftermath of his crimes—disposing of the bodies and so forth? You have no letter from Wolcott, Mr. Tolliver. (Cy lowers his hands and opens his eyes.)

Cy: Let's say that's the case.

Heasrst: I just did. Let's hear you say it.

Cy: I have no letter from Mr. Wolcott.

Hearst: Never did.

Cy: I never did have one.

Hearst: You're a lying, blackmailing sack of shit.

Cy: What do you want?

Hearst: I want you to go to work for me.

(Gem saloon, Al is at the bar, Johnny and Dan look on.)

Johnny: (clears throat) How was your walk?

Al: I seemed to get around adequately.

Dan: Seemed to get along with that dandy.

Al: Yeah, he's all right. (Dan looks at Johnny)

Johnny: Theater fella, huh? Langrishe?

Al: (looking straight at them) He's a fucking promoter of the first fucking quality, I can tell you that. I don't go to plays so I can't speak to his worth as an actor. (drinks) Ahh—Tuesdays... he'll tend to have amateur nights. Been to plenty of those. Virginia City. Guy farted seemed near an hour. (Seth enters through the back door)

Johnny: (softly to Dan) Well, that don't sound like no amateur. (giggles)

Al: Bullock.

Seth: Tell that Chinaman when I want admission to his meat locker, it behooves him to fucking cooperate.

Al: What did he do instead?

Seth: Said "Swedgin" and barred my way.

Al: Had you eyes to select your own cut?

Seth: Are you gonna fuck with me? (Al tilts his head to Seth, beside him at the bar) I had eyes for the Cornishman killed in here last week. I explained it to him, and he Goddamn understood me.

Dan: Did he mosey over to a corner, lift up a fucking tarp?

Seth: Yeah, he went to the tarp.

Al: That's what the croaker was under.

Johnny: That's our nook in Wu's structure. (Al points to the bar in front of Seth, Johnny slides a shot glass down and Al pours a drink.)

Al: Why Wu delayed cooperating, he hadn't known the croaker was under there. His stupid suit so overcome me, it slipped my mind to tell him.

Seth: I want that body. (drinks)

Al: I'll see Wu hands it over.

Seth: Hearst just had another Cornish killed at his diggings for trying to organize. They're calling that one an accident. (Dan and Johnny exchange looks)

Al: What makes you think any good will come of confronting Hearst now?

Seth: Now is when he's killing people.

Al: What, you feel he'll leave off soon?

Seth: Tactics and timing ain't the issue.

Al: The hell you say. (drinks)

Seth: If his pigs get that body, Wu is their next fucking meal. You make him understand . (Seth leaves)

(On the street, Seth spies Alma, who's heading to the Grand Central. She sees him and they exchange smiles)

(Chez Amie. We see Joanie with a watering can, watering the children's garden in front of the building. Jack is now looking around the camp on his own, and is studying the building)

Jack: (reading signs) "Chez Ami" "Cooperage" Well, well.

Joanie: I'm watering these kids' vegetables. We don't do the other anymore.

Jack: Very good. Lovely building. Sturdy?

Joanie: (nervous at the attention) Get away now.

(He nods and tips his hat to her, walking away)

(Hearst's room, he is opening the door to Alma)

Alma: I apologize for the awkwardness between you and my husband.

Hearst: Ah. My dear Phoebe, Mrs. Hearst, like your Mr. Ellsworth, while pleasantly conversable on most subjects, finds others not to suit her at all. (He gestures for her to have a seat, he pulls out a chair for her, and as she sits he leans in to smell her rather inappropriately. She does not notice. Hearst sits across from her at the table)

Alma: Will you hear my offer, Mr. Hearst?

Hearst: Of course.

Alma: (pulling out her paper) I am willing to sell to you a 49% ownership in my claim, in return for—and here... of course, I am out of my depth—but for the sake of beginning a negotiation, I'll say 5% of your holdings in the hills. You would have an easement through my holdings for the transport of your ore, unqualified in any regard except that it not impede my mining operation. Naturally, at a separate fee, I would wish access to transport for my own ore.

Hearst: (As Alma speaks, Hearst is growing more and more irritated) Have you finished?

Alma: I have, yes.

Hearst: (struggles to remain civil) Your proposal is thoughtful, but I'm afraid I lack the qualities that minority participations require.

Alma: As I said, these are the most preliminary thoughts.

Hearst: (now starting to show his anger) A vulgar man would ask before preceding any further if you would require him to produce his jackknife and make himself a capon before you.

Alma: (taken aback) What in my ideas do you find emasculating?

Hearst: (raising his voice, talking down to her) I can offer no inside explanations, Mrs. Ellsworth, as I am not a capon, which details offend me and why your proposal offends completely. It mistakes my nature absolutely. (Alma nods)

Alma: (embarrassed and a little frightened All right.

Hearst: Will you hear my counterproposal?

Alma: I think not, Sir. (standing up)

Hearst: (quickly stands) Do hear it, Mrs. Ellsworth. Let me name an amount to buy you out.

Alma: I will not hear it, Mr. Hearst. (She takes a step to the door, he blocks her) Let me out. Shall I scream?

Hearst: (moves towards her) The hour makes the thoroughfare uncertain. Will you have an escort until your dear home's lights appear before you? (Alma shakes her head) No.

Hearst: (He steps in very close. She turns her head away from him but does not back up. He is looking at her with a certain amount of lust and speaking directly into her ear) You are reckless, madam. (inhales) You indulge yourself. (he seems very close to grabbing her, then steps away and she leaves quickly looking very frightened)

(Hardware store Seth leans in the doorway, Sol is sweeping the entryway. Pausing when he gets to where Seth is standing.)

Sol: Stand your watch. I'll—I'll get this part later.

(Seth glances at Sol, then back to the street. He sees Alma coming from the Grand Central. She is moving erratically in the crowded street, looking frightened and confused. He looks concerned and steps out into the street into her path. She looks at him for a moment, then walks past him. Seeing she is upset, he turns around and looks up at Hearst's rooms with anger)

(Grand Central dining room. Lou is standing over a table where the 2 women from the Troupe are dining. Richardson is hovering behind Lou. Jack enters the dining room from the street)

Lou: Everything fixed to your liking, folks?

Blonde: Wonderful. Thank you.

Jack: (entering) Have you supped sumptuously?

Blonde: Actually, we have.

Jack: I'm delighted. Countess?

Countess: Costumes were damp.

Jack: Oh dear. Are you drying them? (She raises her eyebrows at him) You are, of course. I am tedious beyond bearing to ask. (Blazanov enters)

EB: (nodding to Blazanov's hat) A newly rakish tilt.

Blazanov: Cheyenne and Black Hills Telegraph Company. Telegram for Mr... "Langinshire."

Jack: Langrishe!

Balzanov: Langrishe.

Jack: I am he.

Blazanov: (Handing him the telegram) Telegram.

Jack: Yes. (Blazanov averts his eyes, waiting for his tip. The Countess shakes her head in disapproval at Jack. Blazanov starts to leave.)

Countess: Wait. (She hands him a coin, he bows to her.)

Blazanov: Thank you.

Jack: Very welcome. (Blazanov pauses in confusion and leaves.) What did you give?

Countess: A dollar.

Jack: Too much. (She shrugs) Chesterton and Bellegae are in transit from Cheyenne.

Blond: (mockingly) Having suffered the tortures of the damned?

Jack: "Endured indescribabe inconvenience."

Countess: "The damned" was from Fort Kearney. (Blond laughs)

Jack: I shall take the air.

Blond: Shall I accompany you?

Jack: My destination is beneath you.

Delta: At least something would be.

Jack: Good evening. (Leaving) Good evening. (The woman in red, from the stage, comes down the stairs into the dining room) Madam.

Woman in red: Sir.

Jack: (turning with a flourish) Wonderful food! (Aunt Lou nods at him and he leaves The woman in red sits and Aunt Lou approaches her with Richardson.)

Lou: We got fish and we got ham, and don't pay no attention to the menu. (nods to the wall)

(Aunt Lou takes Richardson's hands and leads him back into the kitchen. E.B. watches with interest)

(Ellsworth house, Alma and Whitney are again at her desk upstairs)

Alma: The thought I'd put into it, all the time I took to write it out and put it by and look again. (sighs) I began to read to him my proposal, but I--I was more and more afraid I was only chanting sounds. Finally, I made myself look to him to confirm that I was speaking intelligently and being understood.

Ellsworth: Now you know.

Alma: He grinned at me like a jackal.

Ellsworth: This is what I would have spared you.

Alma: He scorned my offer. He said I mistook his nature absolutely.

Ellsworth: You did.

Alma: Yes.

Ellsworth: And was there more? After the jackal smiled?

Alma: It seemed very possible that there could be, but finally he let me go.

Ellsworth: He had restrained you?

Alma: (sniffles) I was very afraid. I can't say with any certainty exactly what was happening.

Ellsworth: What the hell do you mean? Did you try to leave, and did he prevent you?

Alma: Don't use that tone of voice with me.

Ellsworth: Well, I guess I know what that means.

Alma: Oh, do you, Mr. Ellsworth?

Ellsworth: (angry) That you're a Goddamn fool who almost got what she deserved.

Alma: And what would that have been? And why would I have deserved it?

Ellsworth: (turning to leave, sadly) I only wanted to protect you.

Alma: (mockingly) You can't.

(Kitchen of the Grand Central.)

Lou: I wish you'd eat that outside, Mr. Hearst.

Hearst: I wanted to be sure you have all you need.

Lou: And more besides. (looking over her things) And now you done seen for yourself.

Hearst: I really don't care what others think of me, Aunt Lou. And you need only care what I think. God, I hate these camps. All this deferring and adjusting to other's wrong-headed stupidities.

Lou: I must have missed where they were better in San Francisco.

Hearst: They're not. They're worse. Can't bear San Francisco.

Lou: Don't let Mrs. Hearst hear you saying that.

Hearst: Aw, she knows, she knows. She knows why I always leave so quickly. Goddamn truth is I'd rather be off by myself, Aunt Lou. Free to do my work. "Boy-the-Earth-Talks-To."

Lou: (rolling her eyes slightly) That's your Indian name. (She seems a little anxious for him to be gone)

Hearst: That's right. You remember. Only Goddamn conversation I care to have. Her telling me where to dig into her. (He finishes his cobbler and holds up the plate to her.) Wonderful.

Lou: Thank you, Sir.

(Bullock house. Charlie and Sol are having dinner with the Bullocks.)

Charlie: Haven't ate potatoes quite that smooth. I don't know if I ever had 'em that smooth. (chuckles)

Seth: (looks to be stewing over something) These elections can't be a joke. More tail-chasing for him to laugh at us about.

Charlie: Hearst.

Seth: The offices have to count for something.

Charlie: (pauses, looks curious) How will you work that?

Sol: Laws.

Charlie: Jesus Christ! Excuse me. Seems like one way more for his kind to run us. Laws do. (Charlie crosses his arms, frustrated.)

Martha: (sort of shrugs, seems interested in this exchange) Who will have strawberries?

(Seth looks up at her, we see a look of affection cross over him).

(Hearst's room, Cy is standing, wearing his good suit. Hearst is sitting)

Cy: I hope you'll take it as measure of my keenness, Sir, and curiosity.

Hearst: (irritated) Yes, yes, yes, Mr. Tolliver. You wish to know your duties in my service.

Cy: Well, I make my way through the muck to learn the details.

Hearst: (pauses) Your duties will be to answer like a dog when I call.

Cy: Like a dog?

Hearst: Complications of intention on your part in dealings with me, or duplicity or indirection. Behavior, in short, which displeases me will bring you a smack on the snout.

Cy: Ouch.

Hearst: When administered by a practiced hand such a blow can be more painful and grievous even than your recent sufferings.

Cy: I don't doubt the hand would be practiced.

Hearst: Mr. Swearengen recently discovered as much.

Cy: I gather it cost him a finger.

Hearst: (pauses, seems a little disgusted at this thought. His tone now changes to one of being a little amazed at himself.) But I should say too that in these rooms just this afternoon such displeasure brought me near to murdering the Sheriff and raping Mrs. Ellsworth. I have learned through time, Mr. Tolliver, and as repeatedly seem to forget, that whatever temporary comfort relieving my displeasure brings me, my long-term interests suffer. My proper traffic is with the earth. In my dealings with people, I ought solely have to do with niggers and whites who obey me like dogs.

Cy: (grinning) If he hadn't meant me to wag it, sir, why would the Lord give me a tail?

(Cut to chink's alley. We see Aunt Lou sitting at a gamming table with several Chinese.)

Lou: So I make you my second deputy, you clever little heathen monkey tongue. (laughs. We see Richardson stand to her rear with his antlers, he is watching her with some admiration) You stand there, Richardson. You're lucky for Aunt Lou. ( They all shuffle the mah johng tiles and set up a new hand.) Don't shy away from a little noise now. Ah chung ow chi. See I speak your stuff.. You savvy? Clatter them Goddamn sparrows. (mocking Hearst now) "I love your cobbler like sunset, Lou." And back-broke niggers in the fields. (snickers) George Hearst... he do love his nose in a hole more, and ass in the air, and back legs kickin' out little lumps of gold like a fucking badger. No more use for them nuggets, either. Past counting them up, and saying that big number to astonish niggers to remind us we in the world. (She sticks a cigar in her mouth and one of the players puts down a tile. Aunt Lou grabs it up.) Hah! I seem to have won. That's the 13 orphans natural. (laughs) Shall we clatter them motherfuckers again? (laughs)

(Gem balcony, Al and Jack are drinking and leaning on the rail)

Jack: Strange affectations your devil friend has. Shabby appearance, derelict hotel.

Al: Put the hole through that wall just before he worked on my hand.

Jack: Americans... it never occurs to them to try the window.

Al: I'll tell you the truth. I begin to wonder if I mightn't be fucking queer.

Jack: You see more to admire in the male asshole than you'd... realized hitherto?

Al: That I haven't gone yet for Hearst's throat.

Jack: Ambition and the blessed simplicities of action don't always quarter in comfort.

Al: I've no fucking ambition past trading to my favor and coming... once a day.

Jack: Bullshit! A thing of this order you'd as soon not see ruined or in cinders.

Al: I will if I fucking have to. Avoiding it if I could.

Jack: Good night, Al.

Al: Good night.

Jack: (stands up and starts to leave, crossing behind Al Few enough I find tolerable. Lucky our paths have crossed again. (He gives Al an affectionate pat on the butt as he leaves) Don't misinterpret that.

Al: All right, Jack.

(Close with Al watching over the camp)

The End