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(Open in Alma’s room, Sofia is
sleeping. Alma arrises suddenly and pukes in the bedside
picher)
(Cut to Al’s room, Al is in bed with
Doc sitting next to him. Johnny and Dan are also in the room watching
Al)
Johnny: Psst! (He motions his head to Al, who is
opening his eyes.)
Al: Boys. (Johnny
stands up next to Dan)
Doc: How
are you?
Al: (Looks
around, sees Dan smiling at him, he points at Dan) You fuck me while I was out?
Dan: Hell, no.
Al: Well
quit looking at me like that.
Johnny:
(Laughs) Except for talking a little
cockeyed, Al is back to his accustomed self!
Doc: And
what that is, speech… crisis he went through, Al’s body parts are showing
they’re healing at different rates.
Johnny:
Well, you talk cockeyed, boss, all you want, long as you want, just so you’re
miserable and mean.
Al: How
cockeyed do I look?
Doc:
Appropriately cockeyed, for one who’s been through what you have, and then the
fall you took.
Al:
Bullock look worse?
Doc:
Naming your adversary shows your memory is intact.
Doc: Al
is out of the development interpretation business for the short time
bein’.
Dan: Wu’s
got a big tall Celestial what’s hauntin’ him. He’s invisible. W-Wu’s convinced he’s
from San Francisco.
Doc:
Goddamnit, Dan. Will you shut the
fuck up and let this man harbor his resources?
Al: You
look in chink’s alley? You see any
big unfamiliar chinks?
Dan:
Well, there ain’t nothing to it, Al.
I just told you for a giggle.
I mean, you know? Excitable
Wu.
Al: So
what else is new?
(Doc shakes his head and mouths “Nothing” to
Johnny.)
Johnny: Nothing special—
Dan: Not a goddamn thing that can’t wait
till you get well, Boss. (Nods to
Doc.)
Al:
There is a bell…behind the
bar.
Johnny:
Absolutely.
Al: I
know there is a bell. I’m telling
you I want it brought over here.
Johnny:
Absolutely, Al. (he leaves
(Doc motions for Dan to go
too.)
Dan: Uh,
I-I best help. If
there’s anybody can fuck up the gatherin’ of a bell, it’s Johnny. (He leaves)
Doc: (Pouring
some water) You want some
water?
Al: Yeah.
Fuckin’ water.
(Doc sets the glass on the edge of the table where he
knows Al cannot reach it, Al looks at it.
He looks back Doc.)
Al: Don’t
be a fuckin’ jerk.
(Doc picks up the glass and brings it to Al’s
lips. Al takes a
sip.)
Doc: Your
right eye is filled with blood. Can
you use your right arm at all?
(Al struggles to lift his right
arm.)
Al: Put
your nose between my fingers, you’ll find how much I can use my fucking
arm.
Doc:
That’s good. That is a good sign,
Al.
Al: Don’t
bullshit me.
Doc: I
won’t. I think you’ve had a small
stroke, guessing maybe from the strain of that stone.
Al: You
keep bullshittin’ them.
Doc: I
will.
Al: This
gets out, I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat.
I wield a blade good with my left.
Doc: It
won’t get out.
Al: If I
need it, you will fuckin’ kill me.
Doc: You
stop that.
Al: You
find me no better, you will wish to hell I was fucking worse, ‘cause I wield a
blade good with my left.
Doc: (Shaking his head) Don’t you put a
fuckin’ clock on this.
(Grand
Central, E.B. is standing beside the staircase of the hotel, pacing, practicing
his speech to Alma.)
EB: Madam, in the chambers of my heart beats a love for
every crooked timber of this shitbox of a structure, this building. This building, it’s warped floorboards
and—(We here plates crashing)
Richardson: Fie!
EB: Why,
even Richardson my chef, my eyes see a beloved household pet somehow walking
upright…See in Richardson…a half-witted child, nonetheless adored. (Alma comes down the stairs) Oh, Mrs.
Garret. Uh, the very subject of my
thoughts.
Alma: May I borrow
Richardson, please, Mr. Farnum, to escort me on an errand?
EB: (Steps closer) Would you prefer other
company, Ma’am? Less
mysterious?
Alma:
No, Mr.
Farnum.
EB: Richardson!
(Richardson hurries
over.)
Richardson: I saved a
lot. I’ll mop the rest in a
moment.
EB: Go
with Mrs. Garret.
Alma: Thank you, Mr.
Farnum. (She proceeds ahead, Richardson
following.)
EB:
Eyes down. (Richardson does as told, E.B. continues
practicingh) Therefore, Madam, as to your generous offer to purchase my
hotel, I must gratefully decline.
(Merrick's office, Jarry
enters)
Merrick: Oh.
Hugo:
I take you for the man in
charge.
Merrick:
A.W. Merrick, Sir, owner, publisher, editor-in-chief, and for the moment, sole
reporter.
Hugo: Hugo Jarry,
County Commissioner appointed by Governor Pennington.
Merrick:
Of-of this county?
Hugo:
Yes.
Merrick:
(Excited) Has our county a
name?
Hugo: Lawrence
County.
Merrick:
Ah—Well! Well, thank you for that
information, and congratulations.
Lawrence, Lawrence County.
Hugo: (Crossing the room) My father was a
newspaperman. “Lowell
Sentinel-Bee.” I was raised among
these contraptions.
Merrick:
Were you?
Hugo: Great respect
for the fourth estate. (Pulls a paper out
and holds it out for Merrick) Here’s a statement to be
printed.
Merrick:
(reading the paper) “As to ownership
of the claims in the newly constituted county of Lawrence, as annexed to the
Dakota Territory, a presumption of legitimate title shall obtain for claims
worked actively and continuously prior to amendment of the treaty with the Sioux
Nation, September, 1876. This
presumption shall be subject to qualification according to mitigating facts.” Uh,
if I discern this correctly, Sir, this statement could be taken to mean, uh,
nothing.
Hugo: The statement
continues.
Merrick:
(sighs) “New title will be awarded on
claims to which title is denied at set prices via lottery. As conducted by the County
Commissioner.”
Hugo: I would be
grateful if that gets in your next edition.
Merrick:
I must tell you, Commissioner, that even with that last bit added, what exactly
will or won’t qualify or mitigate the presumption of ownership eludes
me.
Hugo: I didn’t
realize that was a bar the statement had to hurdle.
Merrick:
Uh, with-without an accompanying explanation, Sir, this statement may work an
unsettling effect.
Hugo: In any case,
Sir, being the Commissioner of this county and bidding you good day, I have
presented you with that to publish in your paper as organ of record in this
camp. (Merrick looks at Jarry, then back
to the statement…) Front page.
(Alma is standing outside the Gem. She absent-mindedly rests her hand on a
pile of antlers, picks it up not seeming to have a purpose. Richardson exits the
Gem)
Richardson: Trixie’s to the hardware store, (Alma looks in its direction) the big
one said.
Alma: May we go there then, Richardson? Have you time?
Richardson: Yes. I
only have stew to mop before lunch.
(Alma turns and heads toward the store, antler still
in her hand. Richardson follows.)
Richardson:
I like
you.
Alma: Thank you,
Richardson.
Richardson: You’re
purdy.
Alma: Thank
you very much. And probably that’s
all either of us needs to say on that subject ever again. (She pauses outside the hardware store. Turns to Richardson…) I’m uncertain
how long I may be, so I’ll send you back to the hotel. Would you be so kind as to return this
to the pile outside the Gem? (She hands
him the antler and puts some coins in his hand.) Thank you, Richardson. (he is studying the antler) Goodbye. (She turns and
leaves.)
(In the store, Trixie is workin on the
books)
Trixie: Oh, cunt! (She throws
her pencil down. Seth looks up at her.
She looks at him stubbornly, Sol smiles at her. Alma enters, looking at
Trixie.)
Alma:
Good Morning. (Seth stands.)
Trixie:
Morning.
Alma: May we have a
private word? (Trixie nods, grabs her
cigarettes. Sol & Seth start to
head for the back.)
Trixie:
Don’t flee, don’t flee. I’m going
outside for a smoke. (She walks past Alma
outside. Alma pauses for a
moment…)
Alma: Gentlemen. (She slowly backs up and joins Trixie
outside.)
Trixie:
You knocked
up?
Alma: (pauses- stunned) Why would you
ask?
Trixie: You wouldn’ta come here first, which means first you
went to the Gem, which you’ve never yet stepped foot in.
Alma: I sent in
Richardson.
Trixie:
Meaning first you crossed the thoroughfare with him, opening the possibility
you’re only puking from the company you keep.
Alma: (Pauses) I think I’m
pregnant.
Trixie: (nods)
We make tea – pennyroyal and cohosh,
if that’s what you come to find out.
Alma:
I might very well die in
delivering.
Trixie:
Holy cow! (Sarcastically)
Alma: I meant to say more likely than other women, I might die, because an ailment when I
was little shaped me for difficulty in childbirth.
Trixie:
Why not take your tale of woe to the Doc?
Alma: I feel that
Dr. Cochran judges me.
Trixie:
Lucky then you come to me that takes you to my bosom and smoothes your hair and
tells you all will be well. (Throws her
cigarette down, crushes it out) I can
tell you this much, Mrs. Garret…If you take the tea, lay plenty of dope
in. ‘Cause I’ve killed seven, and
every bleeding out I laced on good and tight and for a long fucking while
after.
Alma: (pauses, stricken) I want children of my
own.
Trixie: (Looks
down, nodding) Let me finish up my
Jewish lessons here, then come find you.
Alma:
Thank you very much. (Reaches out touching Trixie’s arm)
Thank you, Trixie.
Trixie:
Alright.
Alma: My name’s
Alma.
Trixie: I
know your name.
(Trixie
walks back inside the hardware store. Alma walks back to the
hotel)
(Hotel, Silas is outside his own room, knocking on the door. Miss I answers, still in her bed clothes)
Silas:
Miss
Isringhausen.
Miss
Isringhausen: Mr.
Adams.
Silas: May I collect
a change of clothes?
Miss
Isringhausen: Of course. (He enters, pauses by the bureau.)
Silas: I hope you
slept well.
Miss
Isringhausen: I’m mortified to say I
did.
Silas:
Mortified?
Miss
Isringhausen: Having done so at the
cost of your comfort.
Silas: I
sleep anywhere, Ma’am. I’m like a
dog in that regard. We don’t
want you murdered in your
bed.
Miss
Isringhausen: Perhaps it was
irrational, my being so afraid.
Silas: That
ain’t a test fear’s got to pass.
Miss
Isringhausen: I know she’s had
others done for.
Silas: So
you’ve said. (He opens a drawer, taking
out some clothes.) Anyways—
Miss
Isringhausen: May I know your given
name?
Silas:
Silas—if I remember correct.
Miss Isringhausen: You have shown charity to one among strangers,
Silas…(steps closer) giving her great
solace.
Silas: Thank
you. Or you’re welcome, I
guess.
Miss Isringhausen: Thank You,
Silas.
(She takes his hand and puts it inside her dress, over her bare breast—holding it there.)
Miss
Isringhausen: And you’re welcome.
(She smiles, he pauses, puts
down the clothes he’s holding in his left hand and grabs her. They kiss.)
(A black man in a Union cap is on horseback in the
thoroughfare outside Hostetler’s livery.)
Fields: Hostetler.
It’s the Nigger General Fields. (He dismounts, Hostetler marches over and
grabs the reins.)
Hostetler: Now, you was to have had this horse one
week.
Fields:
Shit, Old Nugget here is sound and
spoiled. (Hostetler checks it over)
He’s been living on peppermints and apples in the private stables of a San
Francisco dry goods big shot.
Hostetler: (Leading the
horse into the livery) Making you owing 17 weeks
additional!
Fields:
Yeah, I was delivering emerald earrings to Mrs. Big Shot, and a diamond bracelet
and matching choker to Mr. Big Shot’s mistress.
Hostetler: (Picking up
chalk, begins writing on a board) $4 a week, times 17… (Fields pulls out a wad of cash)
is—
Fields:
Here, cipher the result against this 100.
Hostetler: (Nods and
takes the bill) $100 take away 68…
Fields:
Put the balance toward our future trade.
Hostetler: (Pausing)
Owing General Nigger—
Fields:
Nigger General.
Hostetler: $32 credit.
Being you was away, maybe now you got a chance to take off this half-ass
uniform.
Fields:
Then who’s gonna know I’m the Nigger General?
Hostetler: By your own telling you never was in no Union
army. This ain’t the time or the
place to be drawing people’s attention.
Even for a goddamn fool.
Fields:
Yeah, well, I keep missing the place where it’d be a good time. Must be my goddamn
foolishness.
(Cy’s office, he is counting gold coins and seems
perturbed.)
Cy: You
wouldn’t suppose they’d be saltin’ the fuckin’ find over there, now would you,
Doris?
Doris: I don’t
understand.
Cy: I was
wonderin’ if maybe your new bosses Maddie and Joanie are sendin’ me more than my
proper share, give me a false fuckin’ impression of how their pussy’s
sellin’.
Doris: I don’t
know.
Cy: ‘Cus
this is—this is fuckin’ heavy action for an operation ahead of itself far as
décor and location and every other fuckin’ aspect!
Doris: It’s mostly
from just the one trick.
Cy: Which
is who?
Doris: I don’t
know his name. They call him Mr.W.
(Cy looks up at
Doris)
Cy:`
What does he look
like?
Doris: I wouldn’t know how to say.
Cy: Oh,
you fucking mutt. Is he tall or
short?
Doris: Tall.
Cy: Thin
or fat?
Doris: Thin. Good looking, I
guess.
Cy: Clean
shaved or beared?
Doris: Bearded. He threw me into a wall last
night.
Cy:
Huh. Don’t tell me. (standing) On what pretext,
Sweetheart?
Doris: I looked at
him.
Cy: And
that was against his instructions?
Doris: He
had all the girls facing the wall.
Cy: And
you peeked? (She nods) Now, was
this—was this more or less a push to the wall, or did he fucking fling you,
violent-like, with more of the same in mind?
Doris:
Violent-like.
Cy:
Huh. Well, that’s a man with a
problem, ain’t it, Doris? (She nods)
Mr. W. Jesus Christ, can I be
that fuckin’ lucky?
(Chez Amie, Carrie is bathing. There’s a knock at the door, Joanie
enters)
Joanie: Warm it up?
Carrie:
Thank you. (Joanie enters, shuts the
door.)
Joanie:
How did you sleep,
Carrie?
Carrie:
All right, I guess. How did you
sleep?
Joanie:
(Lifting a pot off the stove) All
right. (She dumps the hot water into the
bathtub.)
Carrie:
Are you
guessing?
Joanie: I
guess I’m guessing. Do your
back? (She kneels down next to the
tub.)
Carrie:
Yes, thank you. (She hands Joanie the wash cloth, leans
forward and turns her back to Joanie.) My trick got you
upset.
Joanie: I
was in with him the night before. I
guessed he took to watching.
Carrie:
How did that work out?
Joanie: I
guess he don’t. Or, anyway, not
that night. Or maybe just not
me.
Carrie:
Do you want to know what I do with him?
Joanie:
If you want to say.
Carrie: I
get him off through his pants.
Joanie:
Ah.
Carrie:
Acting like my hand’s my snatch.
Joanie:
(Pauses) Reaching around behind
you?
Carrie: Behind me and between my legs.
Joanie:
Through his pants?
Carrie:Yes.
Joanie: You don’t put your hand inside?
Carrie: (whispers)
No.
Joanie: Are you naked?
Carrie: Dressed.
Except for my stockings and my bloomers.
Joanie: Do you talk any special way?
Carrie: I
remind him not to hit me. (Joanie pauses)
Do you want to be writing this down? (Joanie chuckles.)
(Doc’s place, Trixie
enters)
Trixie: Congratulations,
Doc, on your high and holy bullshit.
It’s water off a duck to some, but others still got
feelings.
Doc: Of whom are we fucking
speaking?
Trixie:
One as might die in childbirth more likely than us lucky others, but so sponged
down in your disapproval when she was kicking the fucking dope, she’s afraid now
to seek your care.
Doc: (pausing) I’ll call on
her.
Trixie: Under some other fucking
pretext.
Doc: All right.
Trixie:
Mighty fuckin’ big of ya, Doc.
Doc: You
have about as miserable a disposition as your
employer.
Trixie: I
ain’t exclusive to him no more.
(Fields is on the street, he pauses next to Jane, who
is seated on a bench with a bottle of whiskey.)
Fields: Hey now, Miss Lady. How much do you want for that bottle? (He flashes the cash in his pocket quickly,
puts it back.)
Jane: What the fuck are you supposed to
be?
Fields:
Currency still spends, Ma’am.
Jane: Is that some
dilapidated-type fucking uniform? I
scouted for fucking Custer.
Fields: A
great man who would have wanted you to sell me that
bottle.
Jane: He was no
great fucking man! (Fields chuckles) He was a long-haired
cocksucker that could have saved many lives by more drinking and stop being so
fucking ambitious, and many still above ground and not scalped by the fucking
heathens and their guts spread over the plains. (Fields looks back at her.) You’re a
short nigger, aren’t you?
Fields:
For a fact.
Jane: My name’s
Jane.
Fields:
I’m the Nigger General Fields.
Jane: (Holds out the bottle) Want a
drink?
Fields: I
want to buy that bottle, that’s what I want.
Jane: Well, ya ain’t
buyin’ it, but you can have a fuckin’ drink.
(He looks around, walks back to the
bench…)
Fields: Thanks.
Jane: Don’t fuckin’
look around! I don’t care who sees
a nigger drinkin’ with me or drinkin’ from the same bottle or how…stupid his
fucking outfit is.
Fields:
(He turns his shoulder to her) This
here is the epaulet of a Union army General.
Jane:
Oh. (Leans over and points to her ass) And
this here is the ass of a drunken shitbird. (Fields smiles, chuckling. They smile at each other.) Finish
this with me…(she takes the bottle)
If you can sit beside someone and not stink or fart.
Fields:
(He sits, looking around, she offers him
the bottle back) I’ve been known to cut the odd fart…(drinks) but they’ve never
stunk.
Jane:
I’ve got the self-same
gift.
(Silas’
room, he and Miss I are in bed.)
Silas:
If I took advantage, I
apologize.
Miss Isringhausen: You took no more advantage of me, Silas, than the
Samaritan did the traveler from Jerusalem.
Silas:
Good.
Miss Isringhausen: I should tell you, Silas, that the Mr. Swearengen
I’ve heard you say you work for is named by Mrs. Garret as her instrument in her
husband’s murder.
Silas: Named
by Mrs. Garret?
Miss Isringhausen: Yes.
Silas: As her instrument?
Miss Isringhausen:
Yes.
Silas: Jesus
Christ. (He gets up and takes a bottle
off the dresser) What’s your first name?
Miss Isringhausen: Alice.
Silas: Well, Alice, your story don’t get less strange the
more of it you tell. (He takes a
drink.)
Alice: Because Mr. Swearengen wouldn’t do such a
thing?
Silas: Generates the
fuckin’ strangeness is her saying he was her hire.
Alice: I
see.
Silas: Yeah, well,
that makes fucking one of us. (He takes
another drink.)
Alice: Would you introduce me to Mr.
Swearengen?
Silas: You’re asking
me to? (She nods) You want to meet
him?
Alice:
Please.
Silas: Why do I feel
lucky we didn’t meet across a poker table? (She smiles) Anyways, he ain’t up to
chatting just now. (She pulls back the covers, leaning back in
the bed and spreads her legs)
Alice: Silas? (She
motions him to join her!)
(Alma’s room, Doc is looking at
Sophia.)
Alma:
Her bearing gives you
suspicions as to her health?
Doc: No,
not at all. My notes indicate that
it had been a year since her last exam, and with the day-long lull between gun
fights, I thought I’d have a look.
Alma: I
see.
Doc: And
she seems to be coming along beautifully.
(He indicates to the next room,
puts his instruments away and grabs his bag. They step into the study and Alma pulls
the bedroom door closed. ) Since I have cared for you as well, can I ask
after your
health?
Alma: (pausing) I continue relieved of the
weakness you treated me for.
Doc:
And you have nothing else to
report?
Alma: Thank you for
examining Sofia. (Her arms are
crossed)
Doc:
Folk wisdom and remedies known to
others in the camp are often quite adequate to the requirements of health. And
Trixie, for example, is a stalwart and – and a reliable source of these. (Alma puts her head in her hand)
However, I do have some particular competence as to the implications of
anatomical anomalies, congenital or consequent of previous illness, and I would
hope that you would avail yourself of this, not withstanding my idiosyncrasies
and-and-and my defects of character.
(He pauses, looking to Alma, she
looks down. He proceeds to the door
– grabbing his coat and bag. He
stops at the door and looks back at Alma.) (sigh) Please.
(Cy’s
office, Wolcott is looking through a stack of claim
titles)
Cy: My
experience, Mr. Wolcott, come to makin’ restitution for others’ outlays, the
rich can be tardy.
(Wolcott sets down a thick billfold. Cy reaches for it. Wolcott puts his hand on it,
stopping Cy from taking
it.)
Wolcott: I’m just satisfying myself that my employer’s getting
what he’s paying for.
Cy: Bills
of sale, drawn good and legal, signatures genuine and witnessed. (The door opens, Tess shows Commissioner
Jarry inside.) Ah, join us, Commissioner.
Hugo: Gentlemen. (Door closes) Notice about the claims is
in your newspaper publisher’s hands.
That the Yankton statement may cause unease among local claimholders as
to the security of their title, Mr. Merrick found personally distressing. He found it wrong and
unfair.
Wolcott:
Was he looking for a bribe?
Hugo: No, no. He was not. I have a nose for that. In any case, (he sits) he’s manageable. I quite stared him down. (laughs)
(Leon opens the door.)
Cy: We’re
just chewing the fat in here, Leon, barge the fuck amongst
us.
Leon: (shuts the door) Mr. Merrick posted that
statement outside his office, Mr. Tolliver.
Hugo:
Put out an extra, did
he?
Leon: No edition of
the paper at all. Just the
statement on the outside wall, and people are fuckin’
riled.
Hugo: Riled or
frightened?
Leon: Riled,
Sir.
Cy:
That’s the type of unsettlement we ain’t necessarily
after.
Leon: Wanting to
know where he’s at, who the fuck he thinks he is.
Cy: You
want to manage this, commissioner, or shall I?
Wolcott:
(Handing Cy the billfold) You go on,
Tolliver.
Cy:
(To Jarry) Maybe take another bath.
(Cy leaves, Hugo looks nervously at
Wolcott.)
(Outside Merrick’s office, a group of hooples,
including Steve, are reading the notice.)
Hooplehead: What in fuck’s that word sposta
mean?
Merrick:
Uh, “mitigating,” as applied to a presumption, would mean to lessen or soften
strength or rigor.
Steve: I
ought to punch you in the fucking nose.
Merrick:
(laughs) Why would you punch me? (Johnny is looking
on)
Steve:
You had him here, didn’t you? (Johnny runs off) You give him your
fucking words to print on your fucking machine!
Merrick:
(Putting his hands up) Ah, which is
short of saying I should have forced him to some purpose of my own? (Cy and Leon are approaching…we see Sol come
out of the hardware store…)
Steve:
Show me where the cocksucker’s
at. I won’t fall short of
force!
Cy: (stepping up) Who convened the meetin’,
boys?
Steve: New county commissioner give Merrick a statement
mitigating us into an ass fucking.
Cy:
Ouch. (Smarmily, with a smirk on his
face.)
(Al’s room, Jewel is telling a story, Dan looking
on…)
Jewel: And then I yelled, “Break the fucking door down,
Dan!” (Al sighs, there’s a knock at the
door, Johnny comes in.)
Johnny: Doc said only what would jolly you, Al, but I do
believe Mr. Merrick might be in the fucking soup.
Dan: You have
got one yawnin’ fucking chasm of a mouth on you!
Johnny:
Fucking county commissioner made Mr. Merrick post notice—titles of claims to be
decided case by case.
Al: The
county commissioner’s in the camp?
Johnny:
Yeah, and that hooplehead Steve is about to punch Merrick for posting the
notice, and I know that you got a liking for Merrick.
Al: I
want you to stop thinking now, Johnny, and only answer the question I’m gonna
ask you.
Johnny:
Yes, Sir.
Al:
Where’s the commissioner now?
Johnny:
The commissioner or Mr. Merrick?
Al: The
commissioner, Johnny, where’s the commissioner?
Johnny:
He’s at Bella Union. He-he moved
over there.
Al:
Jesus-fucking-Christ! (Dan gives Johnny a thumbs up,
mockingly)
Al: (Sitting
up) Get
Bullock.
Dan: Bullock?
Al:
Bullock! Get
Bullock.
Dan: Yes,
Sir. (Dan gets up and leaves, Johnny
nodding.)
Johnny:
May call the Sheriff in, huh? Fisticuffs between Merrick and
Steve!
Al: Shut
the fuck up, Johnny. Help me get
situated.
(Back on the street Cy is reading the
announcement)
Cy: It
reads to me they’re inclining toward the present
titleholders.
Steve:
But then they start to fucking mitigate!
Cy: (Looks to Merrick, then back to the
statement) Yeah, they do get to mitigatin’ this last part here. I guess my question is who of us here
didn’t know what gov’ment was before we came? Wasn’t half our purpose coming to get
shed of the cocksucker? And here it
catches up to us again, to do what’s in its nature—to lie to us—(Dan walks by – watching) and confuse us
and steal what we come to by toil and being lucky just once in our fucking
lives. Heh-and are we gonna be
surprised by that, boys, government bein’ government? (Dan approaches Seth & Sol.) Will we
next be shocked by rivers runnin’ or trees castin’ fuckin’ shade? Look, I have said before and I still
fucking say those of a mind, make a price on your claims. Get out from under uncertainty. And that’s from no fuckin’ goodness on
my part and no fuckin’ charity either.
I am past pickin’ up again.
(Dan & Seth head to the Gem,
E.B. watches from the hotel porch.) This spot might be wrong, but here’s
where I’m makin’ my stand! And I’ll
also say, for bein’ a fuckin’ commissioner, this – Jarry - don’t seem such a bad sort, under the
limits of what he is. (Puffs his
cigar)
Steve:
Wait a minute. (Cy looks at Steve) Does that mean
you’ve been fuckin’ talking to him?
Cy: When
in fuck did I say I wasn’t?
Steve: I
am asking you where the fuck he is, and if he’s at your fucking
joint!
Cy: And I
am tellin’ you yes, and makin’ no fuckin’
apologies, and sayin’ one more question in that tone will collect you a
broken jaw. (He nods to Leon, Leon heads
for the Bella Union, the hoopleheads all watch him…)
Steve:
I don’t need another fucking
question, ‘cause I’ve located the fact that I was seeking, which is the
whereabouts of the fucking commissioner, and whoever wants can come with me! (He leads the hooples to the Bella
Union.)
Merrick: Dangerous turn, Mr. Tolliver.
Cy:
Yes. Temper loosened my
tongue.
(Al’s room, he is sitting on the bed, Seth is
standing near the door)
Al: (Chuckles)
You got gall—comin’ before me
prettier ‘an ever.
Seth:
Are you all
right?
Al: On
the fucking mend, that’s all to say on that. What do you know of this new
commissioner?
Seth: His
notice on the claims has people pissed off.
Al: I
wouldn’t want the cocksucker harmed.
Seth: I don’t
intend him any.
Al: Don’t
be fucking clever with me. He’s
allied with Tolliver. Are you aware
of that?
Seth:
No.
Al:
Bedridden, I know more ‘an you. The
point is, if their man’s allied with Tolliver and fuckin’ harm comes to him,
between the hoopleheads and me, who will Yankton put it
on?
Seth:
You.
Al:
Yeah. Do they understand how most
of what happens is people being drunk and stupid and trying to find something
else to blame besides that-that makes their lives totally fucked? No, they don’t.
Seth:
Yankton.
Al:
Yankton, exactly. They’re too busy
stealin’ to study human nature. (Puts his tea cup down, Johnny
enters.)
Johnny:
Did you ring,
Al?
Al: (Grabs the bell and starts clanging it)
Now that’s the sound of
that fuckin’ bell being rung. Did
you hear that sound?
Johnny: No.
Al:
No. Then get the fuck out. (Johnny leaves) And both of you being
government officials…you ought to fuckin’ look out for each other…(lifts his teacup in a toast.) Sheriff.
(Al sips
his tea, Seth pauses, turns and leaves.)
(Bella Union, Jarry is trapped in the cashier’s cage while Steve and the hooples are yelling and threatening him.)
Hugo:
Had you vision as well as
sight, you would recognize within me not only a man, but an institution and the
future as well.
Steve:
Fuck you, fuck the institution, and fuck the future!
Hugo: You
cannot fuck the future, Sir. The
future fucks you.
Steve:
Come out from that cage, you billiard-ball looking
cocksucker.
Hugo: I do not take
orders from hooligans.
Steve:
Come out! We’ll see if them cappers
choose you to look at or Tolliver’s fucking money!
Con: (To Leon) That’s a chancy
call.
Hugo: Should you impede my progress, Sir, were I to attempt
to leave this cage, you would seal your fate as irrevocably as the tyrant
crossing the rubicon!
Steve: Is
he asking to suck my prick?
Hooplehead: Why don’t you just explain (Cy gives a sign to Con) your fuckin’
statement, commissioner, (Con passes the
sign to the cappers) as far as us keepin’ title to our claims!? (Two cappers nod at Con and stand at ease)
Hugo: I explain nothing under duress.
Steve:
Have you ever lived a day in your fucking life? (Grabs the cage) Pitch, commissioner,
burning off the top of your fucking head! (Hugo grabs the cage) Is that vision or
sight? (Hugo screams as the hooples grab
the cage and begin to rock it back and forth.) Cunt, or duress? (The cage tips over, with Jarry clinging to
it) Son of a bitch!
Seth: (entering) What the fuck,
Tolliver?
Cy: The
mob is an ungodly creature, Sheriff. (Seth draws his
gun.)
Steve:
Come on! (Cy gives a sign as the mob drags Jarry to
his feet. Seth fires a shot into
the ceiling.)
Seth: Stand away or be shot! He’s under protection of the law. (Fires again)
Cy:
You’ve got their fuckin’
attention.
(Cy motions to a nervous Wolcott that everything is
OK.)
(On the street-side bench, Fields and Jane are
relaxing and drinking.)
Fields: Fuck ‘em anyway.
Jane: Don’t
get me started. Do not get me
started, Little Nigger General.
Fields:
If something got to go in front of “nigger”—and – don’t it always?—I prefer
“short” to “little.”
Jane: (nods) “Short nigger” is a deal, and I
am a girl who keeps a bargain. Or I could just call you plain “Nigger
General.”
Fields: (nods)
Call me “Just Plain
Nigger.”
Jane:
“Short Plains
Nigger.”
Fields:
“Nigger of the High Desert.” (Chuckles)
(Fields spots the mob of hooples lead by Steve coming
down the street, they are following Seth and Jarry. Fields immediately gets up
to leave, Jane squints to see what’s going on) Thanks for the conversatin’, Miss Jane, and the
whiskey. (Fields sneaks
away)
Jane: I am going blind as a fuckin’ bat. Who is that, the fuckin’ Sheriff? Flanked by some assholes? (She turns, sees that Fields is no longer
there.)
(On the street)
Hugo: (to Seth) I feel no less manhandled by you,
Sir.
Seth:
If they still had you, by now
you’d be feeling worse.
(Steve stops the hoopleheads behind him, watching
Seth escort the commissioner away.)
Seth:
(Arriving at the freight building where Jane is
sitting alone now) I need the
lock-up.
Jane:
Wait’ll I take out Bill’s
robe.
(She sets down the bottle and looks at them
menacingly, heads upstairs. Seth
tips his hat to one of Tolliver’s cappers who was following at a distance. Steve sees Fields scurry into the
livery. Hugo and Seth follow Jane
up the stairs of the freight office.)
Hugo: And now to jail, as wretched indignity
accumulates.
Seth: Beating,
short of murder, might have done you considerable good.
(Bella Union, Cy and Wolcott talk as Con & Leon
are seeing to getting the cashier’s cage upright.)
Wolcott: The commissioner meets his
constituents.
Cy: A man
has to work some dogs to learn how the world’s tail wags.
Wolcott:
Not coming to his aid, you mean to build his character.
Cy: We
all ain’t sound like you, Sir. Many
could use some construction work.
Fellas like yourself, that’s hard to understand. Your foundation’s sunk deep. Framework’s first rate, your
mason-work. Nothin unfinished in you, or rotten or damaged. Or sick.
(Cy gives the thumbs up to Leon & Con, the cage
is back up. He turns back to
Wolcott and gives him a smirk, then heads upstairs.)
(In Hostetler’s livery, he’s pitching
hay.)
Hostetler: Five long years talking to nobody. “Hostetler, you
got enough problem of your own. You
don’t need other bodies, especially a fool! (He pounds the hay with the pitchfork) A
fool! Hostetler, a fool!” (panting) I hope you fuckin’ strangle
under there.
Fields:
Mark us even on that $100. (He pokes an arm up the hay, giving
Hostetler a thumbs up.)
Hostetler:
If you don’t get your fuckin’ thumb
down, I’m ‘onna run this pitchfork through it.
(Steve
and the hoople mob are gathered in a corner of the
thoroughfare.)
Steve: We
drag the nigger from the livery to our pitch pot in chink’s alley. And we make a good fucking racket so
that Bullock hears. He comes out,
he gives fucking pursuit. Once he’s
across the thoroughfare, the several of us come from under the fucking stairs
and go up and grab the commissioner.
Hooplehead: Well, suppose Bullock comes out
shootin’?
Steve: (pauses.) Or we just grab the
nigger.
(Alma’s room, she’s seated on the bed, Doc is sitting
across from her…)
Doc: Your
pelvic girdle does show the effects of your childhood illness. Your labor may be
difficult.
Alma: When you say
“difficult”….
Doc: I
have counseled patients on the basis of their anatomy against taking pregnancies
to term. I do not make that
argument with you.
Alma: Do you
distinguish between difficult and dangerous?
Doc:
Yes. Your shape does not add danger
to the delivery such as to justify, for instance, the risks of a caesarian
procedure.
Alma: It adds pain,
difficult in that sense?
Doc: (nodding) Especially since you might be
reluctant to mollify the difficulty’s effects with – opiates. (She nods, Doc moves to his case, packing it
up.)
Alma: I’ve been told it wasn’t an alternative for me even
to contemplate, so—this is new information.
Doc: I
see. And now that the-the choice is
within your province, do you incline in one direction or
another?
Alma: (Pausing) To be honest, Doctor, I’m
living into the thought that I’ve any choice at all.
(At the
livery, Hostetler is writing on his chalkboard…)
Hostetler: You know what I’m fucking writing, fucking Nigger
General. To my ingrate fucking
sister Etta, who will outlast me, I am writing my fucking will. “One…” (Footsteps approach, he
stops.)
Steve: What else did they teach you, Hostetler—at that
school where you learned how to write? (Hostetler stands up, setting his jaw.)
What else?!
Hostetler: (Hangs his
head) He’s back up in the stall up under the hay.
Steve: They
taught you good. (Pats Hostetler’s shoulder. He starts back
into the livery and notices the others are faltering) Come on, you gutless
cunts!
(Fields is being dragged down an alley by the mob. In
the street, Charliis coming into town on a wagon, he sees the
commotion)
Man: Grab
that nigger!
Man2: Come on,
Nigger.
Steve:
Come on, Boy!
(On the balcony
at the Gem)
EB: (seeing the mob, walks inside with Dan)
They grabbed up a nigger.
Al: When
did a fucking nigger come into this?
Dan:
Hooples got him from the livery.
Al: What
about Bullock and the commissioner?
Dan:
Reckon they’re still upstairs.
Al:
You’ve told me nothing. You’ve
added a fucking irrelevancy.
Dan: It
wasn’t Hostetler. It—it was some
little nigger. (Al
growls)
(At the freight building lock-up, Seth slides the
latch shut on the cell door, he puts a lock on it.)
Hugo:
I’ll give you $20 if you’ll
let me use that as my bedroll.
Jane: (Rolling up Bill’s robe) You got a
better chance waking up looking normal.
(Charlie enters) Hi,
Charlie.
Charlie: Is the Nigger General back to
camp?
Jane: Yes, he
is.
Charlie:
Don’t act like you know, Jane, just ‘cause you’re already
drunk.
Jane: You
are an ignorant cocksucker.
Charlie:
He come over winter when you was gone.
Jane: What’s
ignorant, I met him today.
Seth: Why did
you ask about him, Charlie?
Charlie:
It looked like he was gonna get done for.
I mean, I couldn’t see to be sure.
(Seth puts down the keys and he and Charlie
leave. Hugo looks at Jane.)
Hugo: I’m thirsty.
Jane: Lie on
your back, take aim and piss.
(In the alley, Steve is ripping off Fields’
clothes.)
Fields: How did I wrong you choice
gentlemen?
Steve:
You want to start with me getting’ drafted so my cousin got the fucking
confectionery? (Steve tears off Fields’ pants to his
ankles, dropping Fields to the ground.)
Fields:
And that’s why you’re going to
vulcanize me?
Steve:
Shut your fucking mouth! (The tar bucket
is set down nearby. Men are holding
Fields down.)
Fields:
Your cousin, trapped east, allows you to come here to strike it rich. Ain’t that so? Sir?
Steve:
Get him the fuck up! (Fields struggles)
Get him the fuck up! (Picking up the
tar spreader) You stole my look at riches, you and your fucking monkey
cousins! (Seth approaches as Steve slaps
the tar to Fields’ shoulder. Fields
screams.)
Fields:
You motherfucker!
Seth: (Fires his gun into the air, Steve turns to
him.) Disperse
this riotous assembly!
Charlie: (Aiming his
shotgun) Let go of Nigger
General.
Steve: That monkey just motherfucked
me!
Seth: I’ll
motherfuck you and blow your head
off.
(Steve throws down the tar spreader, he looks
around.)
(Evening now, Alma approaches the hardware store,
Richardson watches her from a distance, holding up the antlers in front of
himself)
Trixie: (At her
desk in the store) Cunt!
Sol: (from his bed in the back
room) May
I please go over those columns with you?
Trixie:
What is the fucking point of you
going over the columns? You
know the method of this shit already, took in probably at your mother’s fucking
tit!
Sol: God
help me for enjoying you out there, even only to abuse me. Although, I also wouldn’t mind getting
fucked.
Trixie: A
last try at twinnin’ these columns, then you’ll have your fuckin’
wish.
Sol: The
correct answer in each instance is $127.49.
Trixie:
(chuckles) You fuck.
(Sol smiles, Alma approaches the door and knocks on
the glass. Trixie gets up to open
the door, grabbing the keys along the way.
She opens the door for
Alma.)
Alma:
Good evening,
Trixie.
Trixie: I
was coming to you once I’d done these columns and fucked a friend. Anyone else
look in on you today?
Alma: (Smiling) I did have another visitor,
yes.
Trixie: I’m gonna light a fucking cigarette in here. (louder) Fuck anyone who doesn’t like
it!
Alma: Please, do
smoke.
Trixie:
Thank you so much. (She starts rolling a cigarette) So
how’d the other visitor’s visit go?
Alma: I am, as we
thought.
Trixie:
And?
Alma: And he expects an uneventful course, though not
without difficulties.
Trixie: I
love how they fucking put it.
Alma: Well, that’s
my formulation.
Trixie:
(lights the cigarette) Does
“formulation” mean “plan”?
Alma:
(pauses) My plan…at the moment, is to watch, and wait. (She smokes, Alma
pauses.)
Trixie “I couldn’t help noticing, Trixie, you’re occupied
now at the hardware store.” (Alma cocks
her head at Trixie, interested) Yes, Alma, I am. I’m spending time at Bullock &
Star’s learning to do accounts.
Alma: (smiling) I’m so
delighted.
Trixie: Though, I’m also fucking one of the
owners.
Alma: (laughs) Well. I’m delighted by that as
well. (Alma smiles at Trixie, Trixie
nods)
Alma: Trixie, can I have a puff of your cigarette? (Tentatively reaching for
it.)
Trixie:
You ever smoked before? (Offers Alma the cigarette.)
Alma: No. (Takes the cigarette) Hm…( coughs.) Thank
you.
Trixie:
(smiling) Sure.
Alma:
(looks away, turns back to Trixie) Good night. (She turns to leave, Trixie grabs the key to
lock up, she grabs Alma’s arm…)
Trixie: Congratulations.
(Alma
nods, leaves and shuts the door.
Trixie puts her cigarette out.
We next see Sol lying in bed, he hears Trixie
approaching.)
Sol: Hello, there.
Trixie:
$127.49, both columns-separate-verified.
Sol:
Lying with aplomb, you’ve got the true calling.
Trixie:
What you heard otherwise is none of your business.
Sol: I
didn’t hear anything else. (Trixie leans
over and kisses Sol)
Trixie:
(whispering) Let me work on your
column now.
(Chez Amie, Carrie’s room, Wolcott is there. Carrie’s back is to Wolcott, he’s
reading from Wild Bill’s letter.)
Wolcott: “My own darling wife Agnes…I have but a few moments
left before this letter starts. I
never was as well in my life. But
you’d laugh to see me now, as I just got in from prospecting.” He’s lying. I’m told he never prospected a moment of
his time in the camp.
Carrie:
We must report him so he’ll be punished.
Wolcott:
“I am almost sure I will do well here.
We will have a home yet.
Then we will be so happy.”
He spells like a child.
“Sure” is spelled S-H-U-R-E.
Carrie:
Is it a very long letter?
Wolcott: No, as you’re about to discover. “Here the man is, hurrying me. I have but a few moments left before the
mail must start. Goodbye, my dear
wife.”
Carrie:
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Wolcott:
“J.B. Hickok, Wild Bill.”
Carrie:
Goodbye, Wild Bill.
Wolcott:
There’s a postscript.
Carrie:
Is it a very long, postscript?
Wolcott:
“Agnes, darling, if such should be we never meet again, while firing my last
shot I will gently breathe the name of my wife Agnes, and with wishes even for
my enemies, I will make the plunge and try to swim to the other shore.” (He puts the letter back in the envelope,
looking contemplative. Carrie looks
close to tears.)
Carrie: Are you a man who needs his trousers
rubbed?
Wolcott:
I
am a man…who needs his trousers taken off.
Carrie:
(Pauses) I can do that. (She turns and looks at
him.)
(Al’s room, Doc is examining Al’s
eye.)
Doc: Seems to me there’s reabsorption of the
hemorrhage.
Al: What
the fuck good is less blood in my eye.
I want use of my fucking limbs.
Doc: I
understand.
Al: I
have spent my last day abed hearing secondhand news from
imbeciles.
Doc: It
strike you as overweening, Al, settin’ nature to a
schedule?
Al: I’m
not setting’ terms for nature. I’m
settin’ them for myself.
Doc: Who
has dominion over nature? Al
Swearengen, owner and proprietor.
Al: As to
when he takes his leave, you’re a-one fucking right. (He takes a swig of whiskey, there’s a knock
at the door, Johnny comes in and tries to mouth
“Bullock”)
Al:
Well I don’t understand.
(Johnny points to his chest, then holds his hands
over his pockets to indicate a badge and
guns. He mouths again –
“Bullock” – Al sighs.)
Doc: Bullock?
(Johnny
nods.)
Al:
Why the fuck do you whisper? (Puts whiskey bottle down.)
Bullock!
Johnny: I
could have said you was asleep. (Johnny leaves as Bullock
enters.)
Seth: Doc.
Doc:
Sheriff. (Gets up, walking in between the
two, he puts his fingers up, pointing to each of them) Pithy
and civil. (Doc leaves.)
Seth: The
commissioner’s all right.
Al: (Pauses mid-swig, offers the bottle to
Seth. Seth steps forward to take
it.) You wipe the rim of that bottle, I’ll knock you out from my present
vantage. (Seth takes the bottle, smiling,
sits on the bed, lifts the bottle) They’re comin’ against
us.
Seth:
(nods) Posting notice like that, not a word even one
commissioner of the three to local
citizenry. (Hands the bottle
back.)
Al: I’ll
guarantee you this too…(drinks)
Politicians ain’t got balls for this type unsupported move. (sighs) Someone’s backing their
play. Or they’d be here bending
over for us.
Seth: Is it
Tolliver?
Al:
Tolliver is us. They ain’t gonna
pick Tolliver over me this early in the game. (Offers the bottle back)
Seth: I
see. (drinks)
Al:
There’s a nigger in the fucking
woodpile somewhere, someone from outside the camp.
Seth:
Anyways. (Starts to get
up.)
Al:
That nigger the hooples grabbed, did
they kill him?
Seth:
Tarred his shoulder.
Al: What
stopped them of that?
Seth: (Pauses) Me. (Gets up.)
Al:
I get back on my fucking feet, I’ll
carry my share of the water.
Seth: (pauses-looks at Al) My money’s on
you.
(Upstairs at the freight building, Jane is tending to
Fields’ shoulder.)
Jane:
Here comes some pain for you.
(She pulls a strip of tar off his
shoulder. He groans.) You ever
think of screaming instead of biting through your own fucking
flesh?
Fields:
(He sighs, breathing heavily) It’s my
fucking pain. (panting)
Jane: And I am suggesting an improved way of dealing with
it, which is how progress occurs.
Hugo: (Sitting up in bed) Will you two be
quiet?
Jane:
Not only will we not be
quiet, you frog-faced fuck…(standing up,
grabbing a club) I’m gonna take this stick and drag it back and forth across
the bars of your cell. (She does, Hugo stands –
yelling)
Hugo: I am not a prisoner! I am in protective
custody!
Jane: In care of a deputy deputized by the deputy Sheriff,
who orders you to shut the fuck up!
(She pounds the cell with the
club, Jarry sits, she tosses the club to the side as she turns back toward
Fields. He’s breathing easier
now.)
Fields:
You know
Hostetler?
Jane: He runs the
livery?
Fields:
Taller than me.
Jane: I know him. (She goes back to tending his shoulder.)
Fields:
I’d be glad if he heard I’da done just what he did, only
quicker.
Jane: I guess he’ll
understand that if I don’t.
Fields:
He’ll understand. I’d tell him
myself except—I’m keeping indoors tonight. (panting)
Jane: Here comes some more pain.
(She tears another strip of tar off his shoulder. He yells in pain. Cut to Hostetler in the livery. He is sitting, head in hands, listening to the distant screams of Fields.)
The End
Click here to hear the closing credits music
Written
by: Victoria Morrow
Directed
by: Gregg Fienberg
Al Swearengen: Ian McShane Dan Dority: W Earl Brown
Seth Bullock: Timothy Olyphant
Alma Garret: Molly Parker
Ellsworth: Jim Beaver
Doc Cochran: Brad Dourif
Sol Star: John Hawkes
Trixie: Paula Malcomson
Tom Nuttall: Leon Rippy
Cy Tolliver: Powers Boothe
Leon: Larry Cedar
Sophia: Bree Seanna Wall
Silas Adams: Titus Welliver
Martha Bullock: Anna Gunn
Maddie: Alice Krige
Hugo Jarry: Stephen Toblowsky
Steve: Michael Harney |
E.B. Farnum: William Sanderson
Calamity Jane: Robin Weigert
Charlie Utter: Dayton Callie Johnny Burns: Sean Bridgers
Andy Cramed: Zach Grenier
Jewel: Geri Jewell
A. W. Merrick: Jeffrey Jones
Rev. Smith: Ray McKinnon
Mr. Wu: Keone Young
Joanie Stubbs: Kim Dickens
Con Stapleton: Peter Jason
Wiliam Bullock: Josh Eriksson
Francis Wolcott: Garret Dillihunt
Carrie: Izabella Miko |
Transcription last updated on 02/06/2007 | |
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