Jewel scrubs the bloodstain left on the floor of the Gem by Dan's jealousy-inspired killing. "You might, Dan," says Al, where the two men sit in the quiet office, "want to learn how to indicate interest in a girl, other than murdering another person." You know, just one homicidal maniac to another. Al ought to make sex-ed health class films. Dan stops trying to get the blood stains out of his tie and shamefacedly apologizes for the disturbance he caused, as well as the free drinks Al had to give out to restore order. Off camera, we hear E.B. change the subject. He exclaims that it's already false dawn and that they'd better hurry if they're going to get their mission accomplished. Apparently, said mission is to get rid of Bullock and Mrs. Garret. "The question is, do we act?" E.B. says. "And to me, the course is clear." Al, sipping his tea, asks what's the course. "Murder them where they sleep," E.B. intones like he's on a 1940s radio show. "Dan," Al says. "Loan E.B. your knife." But, well, E.B. isn't really in the mood to do the knifing, himself. He will, he says, wield the key to Mrs. Garret's hotel room -- at that point in his plan, Dan is supposed to creep up, kill Mrs. Garret, go across the road, climb a ladder to Bullock's room at the store, and bushwack Bullock. Then, E.B. goes on, they can forge a pre-dated bill of sale, Al can allocate him the percentages they previously agreed to, and they won't even have to bother spending any money to continue trying to legitimately buy the claim.
He finishes laying it out and smiles. "Bold?" he asks. "I suppose. But when boldness is called for, bold men do not shrink." As if you could shrink any further, E.B. "That's what the 'B' in E.B. Farnum stands for," Al drones. Dan: "Bold." Al: "You're goddamn right." E.B. doesn't like playing the fool. "Say the words my bones already know," he says, anxious and pissed. "You're gonna back off that fucking claim." This backchat might have earned him a shank, but E.B. is saved by, of all things, the ringing of gunfire in the thoroughfare. They rush to the balcony to find the riding party, sent out to get smallpox vaccine, returned at last. "Well done, fellas," Al says, "and congratulations to the entire fuckin' settlement." He tells E.B. to go down and pay these guys their promised fifty dollars a man. "And if you don't spend it in my joint," Al tells them, "I'll turn the morning over to weepin'." Al is thrilled, but he's got better news coming.