Charlie is still at his post, and now Joanie has joined him. "If I could," she says, a catch in her voice, "I'd tear my skin off. If I could, I'd put out my eyes." Charlie doesn't know what to say. "Now, now," he tries, but Joanie goes on, unconsoled. "I hate being sick," she says of her mental state. "Cy knew what I was. He knew to pick me all those years back." She's kind of beside herself, and Charlie sighs. "Miss Stubbs," he asks. "Did you like my friend Bill Hickok?" She says that oh, she just met him the one time but yes, she thought he was a gentleman. "He was," Charlie nods, and tears spring immediately to my eyes. Dayton Callie, I am your fan for life. Joanie says she felt like Bill had a good soul. Charlie nods again. He gives it to her straight. "He did, Miss Stubbs," Charlie says, gravel in his sad voice. "I can say that -- I knew him 20 years. And you know what else? Bill, that we both liked so well -- and most everyone did that knew him, including some he killed -- Bill thought as ill of his own self as you seem to do about you." He shrugs, as if he can't understand it. "So go on and try explaining people to me," he says. "And same as hearing me say what Bill thought of hisself I don't expect brings you to think any less of him," he adds, "maybe you, Miss Stubbs, oughtn't to stand judge and jury and every other job in court on your own personal case." Joanie doesn't quite know how to take this kindness, and still Charlie goes on. "Maybe, coming to verdict," he says, "[you should] credit others' opinion of you like you do what you think of Bill...still." It's so touching, and Joanie is quite moved. Charlie takes her hand and holds it as they wait in the quiet night.
Hearst opens the door to Al and gets down to business. "Do you come to me placated, Mr. Swearengen?" he asks. "Never more so, not even as a tiny tot," Al lies. Hearst invites him to come hear the speeches, and Al is forced to follow him onto the "landing" he has so recently created. Ugh. I don't like seeing Al following anybody. He looks small next to Hearst. I wish he would stab him, though...fine, I guess that would change the course of history pretty significantly.
On the hustings, Merrick talks to an uninterested crowd about de Tocqueville's views on democracy in America, a publication which, obviously, very few of our nation's current leaders have studied. The Deadwoodians care as much about de Tocqueville as an audience of soccer moms. He finishes and invites E.B. up on stage to zero fanfare. "Your bosom must swell with pride," Hearst drones as E.B. begins his anti-Semitic diatribe against Sol. "The swellings and the saggings of the tit," Al counters, all jokey, I lay at the exactions of time." Hardy har, Al. Hearst says he means that Al worked so hard to put together all this election stuff, and that to work without pleasure makes us our destiny's slaves. GET OUT OF THERE, AL. Jump off the roof, whatever! You're making me nervous even being there.