Al is awake in his bed, looking dangerous even when he's half-asleep. He rolls over, looking puzzled, when he hears a boozy voice in the street. A drunk is staggering around the hustings, taking advantage of the platform to speechify to no one. "I am not the fine man you take me for," he says. Al no doubt agrees as the guy continues, disturbing his attempts to fall back to sleep. His eyes shoot open as the dude goes on, giving his personal testimony of his time in Deadwood. He came there, he says, to sell a string of horses and try his luck at panning. "What I got for the stock," he says, "I lost at the wheel, and the flake I washed up, I drank the fuck away."
Al's face is impassive as he listens. The man says he doesn't know if he'll ever get home. "I sold my boots," he slurs. "I owe nine dollars to a whore..." With this, he passes out and, like a true hoople, manages to kill himself when he falls from the hustings and breaks his neck. What better way to illustrate the lesson Al's been trying to get us to understand for all this time? Democracy leads only to worry and death.
When the sun finally rises, Al goes to join Dan and Johnny who are out in the thoroughfare, pretty much in their underwear, checking out the dead guy. Dan is...barefoot, if you can even imagine it, and shirtless which...was just not necessary. I don't like to think of Dan in such a vulnerable state. W. Earl Brown is just my hero in so many ways. I don't want to see him looking vulnerable.
Johnny, on the other hand, is hanging out in his union suit. Guns drawn, they look over their shoulders, on the lookout for trouble. "It's just a brokeneck hoople, Al," Dan says, shrugging. Al's pissed anyway. No matter that they guy was no threat, he's mad that no one was on watch to protect the interests of the Gem. "Turns on watch, Johnny," Dan says, "'til this goddamned Hearst bidness settles out." Al, still looking rumpled and sleepy, scoffs a little. "Not that we lack options," he says. "Like the sleep from which none awaken." They turn to walk back inside and we see that Johnny is, shall we say, catching a breeze on the backside. "Will you close your flap," Al says, disgusted, "that I don't forgo my boiled eggs?"
In his rooms, Hearst studiously prepares a document, seals it with wax and hands it off to Captain Turner for delivery.
At the sheriff's house, Martha asks Bullock if he thinks the speeches will happen that night after being previously postponed. He sips his tea saying that the speeches and the elections are "hostage to the bidness of the camp," which is dangerous and unstable. She nods, sort of worried until he suddenly changes the subject. "And you know," he says, "I do not like this tea..." Surprised, she asks if it's too cool. He says no, it's too weak. Mrs. Bullock gets stern. "I do not," she says, "make weak tea." Bullock chuckles uncomfortably. "I oughtn't to tease," he says, trying to act like he was joking, but her serious face won't let him. "I like mine unusually strong," he admits apologetically. She tells him he might have said something, as she's not a mind reader, and he nods, saying he's said so, now. "My goodness," she says, putting down her cup and turning to the sink. It's very intense in an angry/flirty/TOTALLY HOT way. It's hard to explain and I'm sorry if I can't find the right words -- if you're married or practically married you have had conversations like this. And as much as I bust on Olyphant for his clenchiness, I am loving him so far this season, and I must say, if I was the actress playing Mrs. Bullock, I would have to fan myself between takes -- the two of them together can be quite smoldery. He watches her for a moment at the counter and then puts his hand on her neck, sliding it down the back of her black dress to rest on her waist. Hell, I have to fan myself, anyway.