Speaking of Charlie, he's back at his place right now, looking over Jane's telegram from the NG. They quickly determine that the NG intends to come back to camp with Hostetler and the horse that killed William Bullock and both start sweating because, as they say, only a drunkard would figure that for a good idea. Jane is kind of flipping out and driving Charlie crazy -- she wants him to help her compose a return telegram to warn him off, but as she rants, Charlie looks out to see that the NG, Hostetler and the horse have already arrived. Jane immediately sizes up the situation: "Aw, ffffuck."
She ain't kiddin'. Hostetler and the NG ride up on the livery to see it being run by none other than their old enemy and mine, Steve. "It's always possible I'm having a nightmare," the NG says, nervous. Steve, who is taking good care of the horses there, looks up and sees them and doesn't even miss a beat. He was, of course, expecting this bad turn of luck. "That's right," he spits. "You've come to take my place away."
Joanie has arrived down at Charlie's, fidgety and worried. She takes a seat in the holding cell (get it?! She's trapped!) and tells him about Langrishe's offer on her place. He asks how she responded. "I told the man to go fuck himself," she says, clearly wondering if that was the best answer. She's so obviously distraught, Charlie suggests that he close his place for a while so they can talk it out. "Oh, please don't," she says, so he changes the subject, telling her about Hostetler and the gang arriving back in camp. "Wherever the two of them was," he says, "I guess they didn't feel their lives were in enough danger." Joanie speaks the truth of the ages and says that people will sometimes do strange things. "For years at a time," Charlie agrees. "Pick any part of my life, for example." Oh, Charlie. I feel you. The whole of my 20s are a mystery decade for which I have no explanation. Joanie goes back to talking about selling her place -- the idea of selling it, she says, just doesn't seem right, though she can't exactly say why. "I'll tell you what I like," she tries. "What I like is knowing these children are learning. I like that, and I like watering their garden the days they ain't in session." Charlie smiles, trying to make her feel better. "The day that school opened," he says, "I remember sayin' to Sheriff Bullock what a nice thing it seemed, watching them little ones walk off to your place." Exactly. "That's what I goddamn like," she says, emphatically, "imagining them walkin' into it. I ain't seen it yet, but I'd like to, and when he wanted to buy it, all I thought's 'Now I never will.'" She breaks down now, crying, and Charlie asks what's wrong. "I wish," she says, catching her breath, "I could care for those little ones. Just once instead of doin' what I did." We cut away as she is comforted by her friend.