Elam walks through town while Mr. Toole glares at him from the brothel's front steps. He's itching to fight, but Elam keeps on going. Soon after, Elam notices that the tattooed lady is following him. They're in a relatively secluded area of the town. He grabs her wrist. "You trying to get me killed?" he asks. "Mister, you do that all by yourself, busting into a white cathouse," she says. He's suspicious, so she looks around to make sure they're alone, and asks, "You still want to give me a roll?" He's still distrustful of her motives, but she tells him this would be entirely off the books. She can't afford for her customers to find out she's with him and she's already giving out discounts because of her tattoos. She cozies up to him and asks him if he's got a dollar. Elam knows a bargain when he sees one.
Meanwhile, Cullen is settling into the saloon for a solid night of moping and drinking. He reaches into his jacket pocket, doesn't find what he's looking for and starts crawling around on the floor. Some men at a nearby table see this and chuckle. One of them is Weasel, whose earless head is now all bandaged up. Do you suppose he told anyone that Cullen shot him and his men? The other guys seemed pretty dead. Seems like that'd be the kind of thing he'd want to report back to Doc. But Weasel has no time for logic because he's busy taunting Cullen with a scrap of cloth. "Drop your hankie, madam?" he asks. It's the tattered piece of needlepoint that Cullen's wife was working on. Cullen reaches up like he's going to grab the scrap, but instead punches Weasel right in the nuts. The impact sends Weasel crashing into a table and his testicles into Wyoming. Weasel stumbles back up onto his feet and draws his gun. "Now, now, boys," says the Swede as he walks between them. "I doubt Mr. Durant wants his new foreman assassinated." He picks up the scrap of cloth that Weasel dropped while in the throes of scrotal agony. The Swede tells him and his friends to leave in that creepy-friendly voice of his. Weasel really, really wants to shoot Cullen, but thinks better of it and backs down.
The Swede looks at the scrap and recognizes magnolias in the stitchery. There were magnolias just outside the gates of Andersonville, he says with an odd wistfulness. "Some nights, the perfume was almost enough to mask the awful stench." Ah, the good old days. Seriously, though, magnolias smell awesome. If you've never smelled one, I highly recommend it. Cullen takes back the scrap without so much as a word of thanks. "You're a difficult man to cipher, Mr. Bohannon," says the Swede. He offers to buy Cullen a drink, which Cullen doesn't turn down. The Swede pours him a drink while denying himself a glass. "I know you killed Johnson," he says. "What I do not know yet is why." Cullen just raises his glass and downs the booze. "Who are you?" the Swede asks, quite genuinely puzzled. How do you solve a problem like Bohannon? How do you catch a cloud and pin it down? When Cullen says nothing, the Swede shrugs and says, "Ah, I'll figure it I out." So Cullen says, "Let me know when you do," and the Swede laughs himself hoarse. His humor threshold is just that low. Cullen quite rightfully looks at him like he's crazy. The Swede pours him another drink. Cullen would probably do well to remember this is how things ended with him and Daniel Johnson. But the Swede has something else in mind. He lowers his voice and tells Cullen about the black powder delivery due the next morning and gives him five dollars to look the other way while his men take a few barrels. Cullen remembers those "immoral mathematics" the Swede talked about. He whips a knife out of nowhere, stabs the money on the counter a millimeter away from the Swede's hand and negotiates his fee up to ten dollars. The Swede agrees to the terms. He could have just counted on Cullen being crappy at his job and saved himself the money, but whatever.