Down in Chink's Alley, things are getting ugly. REAL UGLY. The mob, led by the butt-faced Steve, has dragged the NG to the middle of the street and is stripping him. He is panicked, of course, asking what he's done to offend these assholes. Steve reels off a stupid list of racist injustices: "You want to start with me getting drafted? So my cousin got the fuckin' confectionary?!" Ah. Putting to rest that old idea that members of the Union army were all high-bred moralists fighting the Southern beasts to end slavery. Not Steve, anyway. He's blaming the NG for losing the family business to his non-drafted cousin. "And that's why you're going to vulcanize me?" the NG asks. Steve tells him to shut up, but the NG keeps trying. He tells Steve that if he had never been drafted, he'd never have had the chance to come to Deadwood and strike it rich. Somehow, this does not fill Steve with gratitude. The pot of boiling tar is brought forth, and there's lots of yelling and grabbing the NG is brought into a sitting position. Just now, Bullock comes clenching around the corner to see what's going on, and is witness to this mess. He watches, frozen with disbelief, as Steve stirs the tar and yells at the NG that he and his "fuckin' monkey cousins" stole his "look at riches." It takes ol' Butt Face slapping the tar on the shoulder of the NG to snap Bullock out of his state of shock. And oh, what a snap it is. One and a half seasons of developing the clenching have led Olyphant to this shining moment.
Ripping his gun out of his holster, he fires into the air, yelling, "Disperse this riotous assembly!" Charlie translates that somewhat formal command for the ignorant masses before them: "Leggo of the N*gger General!" Steve tries to defend himself: "That monkey just motherfucked me!" Ohhhhh, Steve. STEVE. Bullock ain't gonna play that! "I'll motherfuck you," he clenches, clenchingly, "AND, blow.your.head.off."
Steve decides, wisely, to believe him as the NG writhes on the ground in pain.
That evening in the thoroughfare, we see Mrs. Garret making her way...somewhere, under the watchful eye of Richardson, some paces away; he's still clutching the buck antlers she'd given him earlier. True love knows no logic, does it, Richardson?
In the hardware store, Trixie is mad as hell, still trying to balance the figures Sol has given her to practice on. Sol's lying down and asks if he can please go over the columns with her. "What is the fuckin' point of YOU going over the columns?" Trixie asks. "You know the method of this shit already -- took in, probably, at your mother's tit!" Trixie's not quite ready for business school, y'all.