Deadwood

Is that some sort of a letter, Marshal?

- Journal. - Journal.

Good.

You know, I was goin' to Deadwood, same as you.

- Is that so? - I had my plans about set.

I only wish to Christ I could get these past three days back.

I can imagine.

No law at all in Deadwood,

is that true?

Being on Indian land.

So then you won't be a marshal?

Taking goods there to open a hardware business, me and my partner.

If I'd have got there, I'd have been prospectin'.

Jesus Christ Almighty. No law at all,

gold you can scoop from the streams with your bare hands,

and I gotta go and fuck myself up

by supposedly stealing Byron Samson's horse.

It's poor damn timing at the least.

Thank you very much.

You're welcome.

I'm sorry as hell about your shoulder.

Flesh wound. Don't look like it wants to infect.

Well, never mind flesh wounds, sir,

when you are goin' to meet your maker,

you don't feature telling him that you shot a marshal in the shoulder

for only doing his legally ordained job.

He may have heard worse stories.

God? Well, if he ain't, I'll tell him six or seven

just on people of my own personal acquaintance.

I'd like to suggest an idea to you, sir,

that I pray as a Christian man

you will entertain on its own fuckin' merits.

Does it involve letting you go?

I know two scores, Mr. Bullock,

that we could make in transit

without moving 20 feet off our path.

People with cash on hand,

and if once we hit Deadwood

and you didn't want to have anything to do with me,

we'd never speak again.

We would meet as strangers the rest of our fuckin' lives.

Now...

you tell me what you think of that, sir.

It don't appeal to me.

Get the fuck out of here for a moment, would you, sir?

Byron Samson's comin' for him.

Sir, would you please get the fuck out

till we have finished our previous conversation?

- How many backing his play? - A dozen, shit-faced.

Samson caved in Tommy Raymond's head at

- the No-Name Frog. He went against it. - What are you conversing at?

Jesus Christ!

Come out and talk to us, Bullock!

Now who is that? That sounds like Byron Samson.

- Yeah. - What would he want?

Now tell me what kind of fuckin' luck I got.

All you're doing stalling, Bullock, is pissin' me off!

'Cause I guarantee you ain't making it through in there till sun-up!

So why don't you climb out from behind your badge,

and your big brick building,

and you bring Clell Watson out here

so we can give him what he fuckin' deserves!

What have we got here?

Whoa!

It's a Jew on a wagon!

Yeah, right out here in the alley!

I'm executing sentence now and he's hangin' under color of law.

You and your partner plan on making Deadwood, Marshal,

do not try for this scaffold.

That's a deal, you loud-mouthed cocksucker!

You hear this? Oh! Wait, this ain't right.

My sister was comin' in the morning.

- What would you have her told? - That's not enough of a drop.

I'll strangle for 20 minutes.

I'll help you with the drop.

Get up and say what you'd have your sister told.

Do not tether that rope off of that porch!

Any more gunplay gets answered.

You called the law in, Samson.

You don't get to call it off just 'cause you're liquored up

and popular on payday.

You don't tell us what to do and what not to do,

'cause you're leaving Montana anyways!

Now do not jump off of that stooI, you cocksucker!

Or what? You'll kill me?

You tell my sister

if my boy turns up, raise him good.

What else?

Tell her give him my boots.

What else?

Tell him his...

daddy loved him.

Tell him...

he has God's forgiveness.

Anything else?

You help me with my fuckin' fall!

Come ahead.

Fuck you!

Stay back!

Move the fuck back, while my partner-

while my partner's taking his sweet-ass time

writing whatever the fuck he's writing over there!

Who'll give his last words to the sister?

None of you better fucking move!

Shit! I'll do it.

Thank you.

- Let's go. - Hee.

Move ahead! Move out of the way!

- Move! - Jesus Christ, come on!

- What's going on! - Move it up there!

Same damn wagon that broke down yesterday, Bill!

That's the hold up, huh?

Same wagon and no damn room to maneuver.

Sounds like it's tighter out there

than a bull's ass in fly season.

- How's your headache? - Not bad.

You want me to canvass for whiskey?

That's all right, Jane.

Believe me, we're stuck here a fucking while.

I know your canvassing techniques.

I don't want any casualties on my conscience.

It's only Wild Bill Hickok

you got stalled here in the muck!

You ignorant fucking cunts!

We're out here the whole goddamn day?

What a goddamn circus!

Shit.

- We've got no water! - All right, friend.

Let's go!

Come on, now, come on, now, come on.

Chickens for sale! $3.00 a pair.

Get your chickens here.

This lot rents at 20 a day, Seth.

- $20 a day. - Tent only, no construction.

Corner location.

In advance, every morning, to Mr. Swearengen at the Gem.

- Where's the Gem? - You'll find it.

Everybody does.

Eight ounces of gold at $20 an ounce is 160

plus $10 for a half-ounce makes 170 total.

Inform your dealers and whores of my credit,

and pour me a goddamn drink!

Honor and a pleasure, my good man.

170 credit, Dan, for Ellsworth.

Yes, sir, 170 for Ellsworth.

I'll let everybody know.

Lot four, some hardware guys.

First one today with this hand.

And pour me another, my good man.

Here comes another.

- Lot four a stayer? - Wagon loaded with goods.

Now with that limey damn accent of yours,

are these rumors true that you're descended from the British nobility?

I'm descended from all of them cocksuckers.

Well here's to you, Your Majesty.

I'll tell you what,

I may have fucked my life up flatter than hammered shit,

but I stand here before you today

beholden to no human cocksucker,

and working a paying fucking gold claim.

And not the U.S. government saying I'm trespassing,

or the savage fucking red man himself,

or any of these limber dick cocksuckers

passing themselves off as prospectors had better try and stop me.

They'd better not try it in here.

God damn it, Swearengen, I don't trust you as far as I can throw you,

but I enjoy the way you lie.

- Thank you, my good man. - You're welcome,

you conniving, heavy-thumbed motherfucker!

Watch out!

That's her derringer.

I warned you about that loopy cunt!

Keep your own tally!

Oh, have no fear on that score.

I said not to beat on me! I told him!

Ticonderoga, New York, Barnett Robinson...

- You got any other guns? - No, I don't got any more.

Ticonderoga, New York, Barnett Robinson...

Ticonderoga, New York- did you find it?

Barnett Robinson.

That's who to notify if this thing goes wrong.

Yeah, I've got it right here.

- How you doing, Trixie? - I told him, don't beat on me, Doc!

- No one asked for your version! - Said I robbed him

and he started beating on me. And I didn't rob you!

- I don't remember. - I didn't, God damn it!

Aw, she shot me right in the head.

D- don't put your fingers in it.

Oh yeah, is it bad, Doc?

Shh, shh, shh.

Get the Chinaman!

Sure would like to know how he lasted for 20 minutes.

Shot straight to the brain.

So prospect in him till Dan brings the Chinaman.

Do you mind if I take him to my place?

Sure. Help the doc with this guy, bring the Chinaman to the Doc's.

I'll bring that sled right in, Doc.

Doc, you drink free today.

And I hope any word of this

would keep the gun out of the whore's hand.