Miss Iz, who has been behaving more and more unlike the straight-laced tutor we'd all come to know and love, drops the big one. She tells Adams that Mrs. Garret had named Al as "her instrument" in the murder of her husband, Brom. Adams looks shocked to hear this, and so disturbed, he has to get up and have a drink. He chooses this moment to ask Miss Iz her first name. It's Alice. "Well, Alice," he tells her, "your story don't get less strange the more of it you tell." Miss Iz wonders if that's because Al would never do something like kill Brom Garret. No, Adams says, what's weird about the story is that Mrs. G allegedly said Al was her hire. "I see," Miss Iz says. "Yeah," Adams responds, "that makes fuckin' one of us." Adams smells a rat, I think, but before he can route her out, she makes her next move. Miss Iz asks to be introduced to Al. Adams again has a moment of surprise. "Why do I feel lucky," he asks her, "we didn't meet across the poker table?" Before he can get any more curious about her true motives, however, Miss Iz lies back, once more offering up the goods. Ahem. We are to assume, I guess, that he takes her up on it.
In Mrs. Garret's room, Doc is examining Sophia. He says his notes indicate that it's been a year since Sophia's last exam, "and with the day-long lull between gun fights, I thought I'd have a look." It's a ruse, really, devised just to get him in the room to eventually examine Mrs. G. The two adults step into the anteroom, and Doc says that since he has also cared for Mrs. Garret herself, he'd like to ask after her health. She takes a beat to look him over, and says that she continues to be relieved of the "weakness" for which he previously treated her. "And you have nothing else to report," he asks, pointedly. Cold as ice, Mrs. G thanks him for examining Sophia. Doc gets frustrated. He rants a little, speaking in generalities about how there were sources of information in the camp on folk wisdom and remedies. These, he says, are often quite adequate to the requirements of health. "However," he reminds her, "I do have some particular competence as to the implications of anatomical anomalies -- congenital or related to a previous illness -- and I would hope that you would avail yourself of this, notwithstanding my idiosyncrasies and my defects of character." He's making Mrs. G sweat. She can't bring herself to ask for his help, and he goes to leave, only to stop at the door and add "please."
Back in Cy's office, Wolcott is there, examining the claims Cy has already purchased off the dumbass prospectors who have bugged out due to panic. Commissioner Jarry, who I am really starting to hate, comes in to announce that the notice about the claims has been delivered to Merrick. He has a good laugh about how disturbed Merrick was about the statement. Except he doesn't laugh for long. Leon bursts through the door to announce that Merrick has posted the statement outside the press office, on the door, and that the smelly men of Deadwood are going batshit over it -- "people are fuckin' riled." Jarry asks for clarification, curious if they are "riled or frightened?" Leon: "Riled, sir." Cy says that's not exactly the kind of unsettlement they were banking on. Wolcott sends him out to handle the situation.
And what a situation it's become. The gathered men can't quite translate the notice Merrick's posted, and are taking it out on him. The head honcho hoople, Steve, can't figure out what the word "mitigated" means, and Merrick's attempts to explain it are only making matters much worse. Steve threatens to punch Merrick in the nose, just for posting the crazy statement, and demands to know where the commissioner is. Cy walks up at this moment to pour his snake oil on the waters. He asks, all innocence, what's going on. "New commissioner in town," Steve says, "give Merrick a statement mitigating us into an ass-fucking." Cy, ever the wordsmith, gives a flick of his mustache, and simply says "ouch."