Mrs. G and Bullock are having breakfast at the Grand Central. He tells her the guy he wanted to get from Montana is not going to be able to come and assay her claim; he says he'll find someone local to do it and keep an eye on the project. Mrs. G, who is awfully bubbly right after putting her husband in the ground, says she feels she should absolve Bullock from all this, seeing as how she feels capable of handling it herself, now. Bullock prefers, he tells her, to see it through, but she rambles on. "I certainly realize that you and Mr. Star," she says, "have responsibilities of your own." Bullock pauses: "Are you firing me, Mrs. Garret?" She says she is trying offer him absolution. "Otherwise," Bullock answers, "I'm staying on." So noble, so clenched. He asks how things have been going with Al and the Gang since he left, and she launches into this absolutely girlish, gleeful tale about how they tried to get her hooked back on the dope to trick her out of the claim. She catches his somewhat astonished look and calms down. "Uh, more appropriately," she says, "I could add, at the graveyard, Mr. Farnum raised his offer. And set a 24-hour limit to my reply." Bullock says they seem to be coming at her pretty hard for the claim. She apologizes for being so excitable. "Please forgive me, Mr. Bullock," she says. "I had better manners before I began to abstain." Bullock says that's all right, and they make some small talk about the smallpox and lining up an assayer for the claim. She thanks him, and he clenches out a smile. "You are changed," he says of her new outlook. She looks back at him for a moment: "You seem to be, too."
At the hardware store, Sol's doing his best to flirt with Trixie, who is there with the little girl. "Our stock's depleted," he says, "but we are offering a one hundred percent discount on any item that catches your eye." Trixie says she has money, but he goes on, saying it's just the "special get-acquainted-with-those-we'd-like-to-get-acquainted-with sale." Charlie arrives with a shoulder load of pickaxes for Sol to sell, saying he also has some sifters out on his horse. "Mighty grateful, sir," Sol says, nodding and grateful for more than the axes. Charlie is impressed with the building and, looking around, sees Trixie for the first time. He tips his hat to her and the little girl. "As much as she favors you," he says, "she could be yours." Trixie smiles and walks away, and Charlie tells Sol he lost the receipts for his costs on the supplies he brought. "Maybe," Sol says, "while you were busy saving my partner's life." Charlie is embarrassed by his gratitude and goes out to get the sifters. Stepping out to help him, Sol calls back to Trixie over his shoulder, jokingly telling her to have a go at making the accounts add up.Outside, he thanks Charlie again for helping his friend. Charlie says it's all right. "I'm sorry you lost [your friend]," Sol says, and Charlie repeats his gruff "all right," thanking him. Dayton Callie. My word, he is amazing. The man should be loaded down with awards. Of course, so should this whole cast -- they're all great -- but no one can bring a tear to my eye like that man. E.B. slithers up now, on his way to the store, and pauses to tell Charlie that he might still have a room for him at the hotel. He continues on, trying to look around Sol's shoulder to get a look at Trixie, inside. "She's to see her longer-term employer," he says. Sol says he'll pass that on, but E.B. is an ass, and has to prove it. "Do you know who that is?" he asks Sol, who gives him a withering look. "I know she works at the Gem," he responds, evenly. E.B. scoffs. "And even so," he says, "[you] admit her to your trade at public hours. Congratulations, sir, on your advanced thinking." Ugh. Sol's too good to punch him, but I sure wish he would. Nobody ever punches E.B., which I cannot figure out, at all. If ever a man needed a swift one to the nuts... Anyway, he yells now over Sols shoulder: "Al wants you, Trixie!" and toadies away.