Ellsworth is out on his claim this morning, hanging out with his dog. He teases his buddy, who has gone digging after some creature down a hole, as terriers will, and says the dog will be lucky if his intended prey doesn't make enough room for himself down the escape hatch to roll around laughing at his pursuer.
The dog is not amused. But he doesn't have time to comment, as he has to hide when Dan Dority strolls up, greeting Ellsworth.
The latter asks Dan where Brom Garret, "the great prospector," is this morning. Dan kind of mutters that he guesses Brom has slept in. Ellsworth winkingly supposes that Brom's enthusiasm for prospecting is "on the wane." Dan says he figures that's possible, and goes to leave, telling Ellsworth he'll see him at the Gem. "Always possible," Ellsworth answers, and waits for Dan to leave to yell out to his dog that Dan has gone.
Up at the graveyard, Sol and Bullock are delivering Ned Mason to the ground from whence he came while sweet Rev. Smith prays and Merrick stands by, sneezing his head off. We move from this solemn scene down to the thoroughfare where a group of newcomers is arriving in camp.
Watching from his window, Al gets a rude awakening in this morning's light -- these new folks ride up across the street and stake their claim. Apparently, they're the proprietors and employees of the Bella Union Saloon. Competition. Al's eyes narrow as he looks over their fancy clothes and pretty whores.
Meanwhile, ol' Ned's funeral service is coming to a close. Bullock stands over the open grave while the Rev. pointedly reads from Proverbs 16: "A man's ways please the Lord, when he maketh even his enemies to be at peace with him." Kind of a paraphrase, Rev., but we get it, and so does Bullock. He clenches, knowingly, and thanks the others gathered who helped transport the coffin to the scene. Merrick asks if he may edify his readers as to the goings on of the previous night's gunfight. Bullock says no, and Merrick sighs, picking up a shovel to help cover the grave. No one will talk to him about any night's gunfight.
Speaking of fights, there's about to be one in the thoroughfare, if Al has any say. "What the FUCK?" he spits, coming out to find E.B. Farnum watching the new people move in. E.B. feigns innocence, saying as near as he can tell, the new folks secretly bought out Artie Simpson's place, and prearranged to turn it into a joint. "This no-good, fucking Judas," Al says, pointing at Artie Simpson, who is, as they speak, slinging his worldly goods into a wagon and getting ready to drive away. He tells Al to calm down, that he made "a practical goddamn business decision." Al snarkily wonders why Artie wouldn't have given him a chance to match the Bella Union's buying offer. "You couldn't have," Artie says. "You'd have killed me before you'd matched." Ah, Artie's no dummy. With malice, Al tells Artie to "drive careful, cocksucker." Really, Artie is not dumb: "Don't think I haven't taken precaution," he says. "Don't think I don't know your mind." Artie, if only you could've stuck around and taught some kind of adult continuing education extension night class in Knowing Al's Mind. About thirty more people would be alive right now.