Hearst wakes up in jail after being humiliated by Bullock's ear boxing. He's pissed as hell. Unfortunately for everyone, Aunt Lou's son Odell picks this moment to show up in camp, looking to run a scheme on the big man. Aunt Lou ain't happy about it and employs the NG to try to encourage Odell to leave.
Leon, worried for his own neck and not as stupid as we once suspected, dumps Mrs. Ellsworth as a client and swears to never sell dope to her again. Alma tries to patch things up with her husband over her previous dope-related behavior, but it doesn't work -- he blames himself for her condition and moves out. Hearst is thrilled to learn of her condition via the snake-like Cy, who is desperately working every angle -- even lowering himself to bribe E.B. -- just to maintain some standing in camp.
Bullock and Al each figure the best idea would be to make a preemptive strike against Hearst, but Al thinks better of it and decides to consult the camp elders before gathering reinforcements.
Meanwhile, Jane, after helping the NG bury Hostetler, is once again falling apart and Joanie has to pick up the pieces.
George Hearst starts the morning with his ass in jail, and how I do love it. Charlie comes in complaining about the post, acting like Hearst is just another drunk drying out in his cell, which pisses Mr. Important right off. That's right, Hearsty -- ain't no V.I.P. section in Deadwood. "Is he only a goddamn fool or so stupid he thinks he's accomplished something?" Hearst drones to Charlie, who continues bringing in the mail. Charlie asks, all casual, who he's talking about, and Hearst says Charlie knows damn well. "I know from the sheriff locking you up between sundown when I left and my coming back now, you must have fucked up at the interval," Charlie shrugs. "Where you drunk?" Hearst doesn't like being on the punchline end of this joke, and suddenly he realizes this is not the first time he's seen the mailman. Charlie, continuing with his tongue firmly in his cheek says, yeah, they've seen each other in the hotel restaurant but weren't introduced. "I'm George Hearst," the big man says, frustrated. Charlie starts over, this time making it far more obvious that he knows exactly who this fool is. "Were you drunk, George Hearst?" he asks, staring him down and walking over to the adjacent cell. "This fellow didn't keep you up here, did he?" he asks, indicating the Cornishman there. "He didn't like, fart or snore too much for you, did he, Mr. Hearst?" He whips the sheet off the man in mock surprise: "Holy Shit! Jesus! The cocksucker's dead, George!" He is, indeed -- the dead Cornishman from last week. "Look, he's got a fuckin' knife in his chest. That ain't your fuckin' knife, is it, George Hearst?" Hearst looks at the body like it's some heap of garbage and gives Charlie his patented kill-ya-later stare.
The NG is back at the livery, hammering away on a trough trying to modify it into a big-enough casket for dear ol' Hostetler. "Goddamn fool," the NG says with tears in his voice. Jane, sober for now and there to help, says Hostetler won't be the first fool the worms work on. "I'll see to the burying with you," Jane says. "I owe a visit up there anyways." The NG says that helping him won't raise her popularity with her fellow white people. Jane rolls her eyes. "Question I wake to in the morning and pass out with at night: What's my popularity with my fellow white people?" The NG sighs, saying he supposes they ought to get Hostetler in his box. "He ain't pretty to look, though," he says, and after a pause, Jane tells him he isn't, either. Damn, Jane. A little less of the tough love when the man's got to bury his pal.