Deadwood/Season 1

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Deadwood is a HBO television drama that originally aired from March 2004 to August 2006, set in the 1870s in Deadwood, Dakota Territory. It features many historical figures, such as Wild Bill Hickok, Seth Bullock, Sol Star, Calamity Jane, and Al Swearengen.

Deadwood

Jack McCall: Should we shake hands or something, relieve the atmosphere? I mean how stupid do you think I am?

Bill Hickok: I don't know, I just met you.

Seth Bullock: We got chamber pots to sell ya. And if you don't know what one of those is, the man livin' next to you will appreciate your findin' out.

Merrick: [To Charlie about Wild Bill Hickok] What a grand surprise. I never thought he'd live long enough for me to meet him.

Al Swearengen: Well, I guess when it starts pissin' rain in here, you know who to blame, huh? Now, I know word's circulatin' Indians killed a family on the Spearfish Road. Now it's not for me to tell anyone in this camp what to do, as much as I don't want more people gettin' their throats cut, scalps lifted or any other godless thing that these godless bloodthirsty heathens do. Or even if someone wants to ride out in darkest night. But I will tell you this. I'd use tonight to get myself organized. Ride out in the morning clear-headed. And startin' tomorrow morning, I will offer a personal $50 bounty for every decapitated (sic) head of as many of these godless heathen cocksuckers as anyone can bring in. Tomorrow. With no upper limit! That's all I say on that subject, 'cept next round's on the house. And God rest the souls of that poor family. And pussy's half price, next 15 minutes.

Al Swearengen: Let her go; she ain't taking any business with her. And don't forget to kill Tim.

Calamity Jane: Is it true? Indians killin' white people?

Dan: [To Al] That's the sewer mouth that follows Hickok around.

Calamity Jane: Why are we standin' here?

Guy: Ridin' out tomorrow, daybreak.

Calamity Jane: Oh, really? Tomorrow. What's your fuckin' rush?! I'm goin' now. Even without Bill. Even without Charlie. I know the road to Spearfish. And I don't drink where I'm the only fuckin' one with balls!

Deep Water

[after Al reveals that a member of Phil's gang came to Deadwood after the massacre]

Persimmon Phil: He swore he'd head to Cheyenne...

Al Swearengen: Yeah, but here's closer, isn't it? All you cocksuckers go for the easiest chance.

Persimmon Phil: So... where is he now?

Al Swearengen: Where he is now is, he stirs the whole camp up last night with his massacre story 'til I'm giving liquor away and cunt at half price just to keep my crowd controlled. Party makes up from Nuttall's to ride back out to Spearfish, Wild Bill Hickok and those two guys walked past you downstairs save the squarehead kid, tell Ned to stick around 'til they see what the kid has to say about him.

Persimmon Phil: Wild Bill Hickok?

Al Swearengen: And Ned throws down.

Persimmon Phil: Against Wild Bill Hickok?

Al Swearengen: Against Hickok and this other cocksucker who draws almost as fast, so it's a toss-up who blew Ned's head off.

Doc Cochran: I see as much misery outta them movin’ to justify their selves as them that set out to do harm.

Al Swearengen: Let's leave it all alone. I'm stupidest when I try to be funny.

Al Swearengen: You don't want to interfere with me.

Calamity Jane: You think I'm scared of you?

Al Swearengen: Sure you are. And if I take a knife to you you'll be scared worse and a long time dying.

Bill Hickok: If irritating me is the jackpot, you got the job done.

Reverend Smith: Men like Mr. Seth Bullock there raise the camp up.

Johnny: Yeah, the fella to be put in that box might argue with you, Reverend.

Reverend Smith: Ah, Mr. Bullock did not draw first. And I point to his commissioning me to build the departed a coffin and, and see to his Christian burial.

Reconnoitering the Rim

Jack McCall: [While playing poker] Well, that's one in a row for you, Wild Bill. Who's hungry? What in the hell damn time is it anyway?

Wild Bill: Sure you wanna quit playin', Jack? The game's all that's between you and gettin' called a cunt.

Tom Nuttall: Ah, meeting adjourned, fellas. Take it outside.

Wild Bill: That drooped eye of yours looks like the hood of a cunt to me, Jack. When you talk, your mouth looks like a cunt moving.

Jack McCall: I ain't gonna get in no gunfight with you, Hickok.

Wild Bill: But you will run your cunt mouth at me. And I will take it to play poker.

Al Swearengen: [During a meeting with Johnny Burns, E.B. Farnum, and Jimmy Irons] I wanna know who cut the cheese. [Nobody answers] I'll tell you this for openers: we are gonna set off an area on the balcony. [Opens the door to the balcony] And God help whoever doesn't use it, because the next stink I have to smell in this office, and whoever doesn't admit to it is going out the window, into the muck, onto their fucking heads, and we'll see how they like farting from that position, okay?

Al Swearengen: [Discussing Custer at Little Bighorn] I'll tell you this, son, you can mark my words, Crazy Horse went into Little Bighorn, bought his people one good, long-term ass-fucking. You do not want to be a dirt-worshipping heathen from this fucking point forward. Pardon my French.

Joanie Stubbs: Oh, I speak French.

Brom Garret: If I'm stooped when next you see me, Alma, it won't be worry weighing me down, but bags of our recovered gold.

Alma Garret: If you wish to see more of the West let's leave now and see it, or else return back to New York. I don't think we should linger here.

Al Swearengen: Every fuckin’ beatin’ I’m grateful for. Every fuckin’ one of them. Get all the trust beat outta you. And you know what the fuckin’ world is.

Here Was A Man

Wild Bill Hickok: [on prospecting] What slows me down is thinking about freezing my balls off in a creek for the cocksuckers I'd lose the gold to at poker.

Cy Tolliver: How about a nap, a bath and sex with a unfamiliar woman?

Wild Bill Hickok: Some goddamn time, a man's due to stop arguing with hisself, feeling twice the goddamn fool he knows he is because he can't be something he tries to be every goddamn day without once getting to dinnertime and not fucking it up. I don't want to fight it no more. Understand me, Charlie? And I don't want you pissing in my ear about it. Can you let me go to hell the way I want to?

Charlie Utter: Yeah. I can do that.

Al Swearengen: Her husband came here with childish ideas. Bought himself a gold claim with me an honest broker. Claim pinches out, which will happen. But he can't take that like a man, has to blame somebody. Seller's left camp, so he picks on me. Says he'll bring in the Pinkertons if I don't offer restitution. I got a healthy operation and I didn’t build it brooding on the right, and wrong of things. I do not need the Pinkertons descending like locusts. So I bend over for the tenderfoot cocksucker. Reconnoiter your claim fully, I say. And then, if you're still unhappy, I will give you your fucking money back. And the tenderfoot agrees. Just as he's finishing his reconnoiter, cocksucker falls to his death, pure fucking accident. But up jumps the widow in righteous fucking indignation. Wants the doctor to examine him for murder wounds. My visions of locusts return. I see Pinkertons coming in swarms.

Wild Bill Hickok: You know the sound of thunder, don't you, Mrs. Garrett?

Alma Garrett: Of course.

Wild Bill Hickok: Can you imagine that sound if I asked you to?

Alma Garrett: Yes I can, Mr. Hickok.

Wild Bill Hickok:' Your husband and me had this talk, and I told him to head home to avoid a dark result. But I didn't say it in thunder. Ma'am, listen to the thunder.

The Trial of Jack McCall

Doc Cochran: I don't know if this is the time for you to stop takin' this laudanum, Mrs. Garrett.

Alma Garret: What a pleasant surprise, doctor. To hear you admit the limits of your knowledge.

Al Swearengen: Let me say this once in your hearing. For outright stupidity, the whole fuckin' trial concept goes shoulder to shoulder with that cocksucker Custer's thinkin' when he headed for that ridge.

Cy Tolliver: It's got its disadvantages.

Al Swearengen: We’re illegal. Our whole goal is to get annexed to the United fuckin' States. We start holdin' trials, what's to keep the United States fuckin' Congress from sayin' "Oh, excuse us, we didn't realize you were a fuckin' sovereign community and nation out there. Where's your cocksucker's flag? Where's your fuckin’ navy or the like? Maybe when we make our treaty with the Sioux, we should treat you people like renegade fuckin' Indians. Deny your fuckin' gold and property claims. And hand everything over instead to our ne'er-do-well cousins and brothers-in-law."

Cy Tolliver: That we don't want.

Al Swearengen: Before a guilty verdict would get executed on that cocksucker, three men would walk in that meat locker where he's bein' held with bags over their heads and cut his fuckin' throat. And within half an hour, that celestial's little pigs will be on their backs with their hooves in the air, belching up human remains.

Judge: Are you saying you'd order that to be done?

Al Swearengen: I'm sayin' I had a vision it'd happen. My second of the day. First come when I was watchin' you and them lawyers on line this morning. They began to slither in my sight like vipers. So as not to puke, I had to close my eyes. The vision went on. Got worse. I saw the vipers in the big nest in Washington. They were takin' us in the camp for actin' like we could set out own laws up or organizations and then saw the big viper decide to strangle and swallow us up every fuckin' thing we gain here. It was horrible. How could we fuckin' avoid it? How could we let the vipers in the big nest know that we didn’t wanna cause any fuckin' trouble?

Judge: And that's when you had your second vision.

Al Swearengen: Yeah, the cut throats and the pigs. But who wants all that blood spilled, judge, huh? Isn't there a simpler way of not pissing off the big vipers?

Al Swearengen: Sometimes I wish we could just hit 'em over the head, rob 'em, and throw their bodies in the creek.

Cy Tolliver: But that would be wrong.

E.B.: What's he ever done for me? Except let him terrify me every goddamned day of his life 'til the idea of bowel regularity is a forlorn fuckin' hope.

Al Swearengen: Remember this when you run your own place: that type guy, hanging around, gets people agitated, forces 'em to take a position, one side or the other. And agitation brings a slight bump-up in whiskey sales but the sale of cunt plummets. That's why I often wonder if I should take that fucking picture of Lincoln down.

Seth Bullock: That man is a lunatic. High water he never made much sense, but now? He just utters pure gibberish.

Sol Star: Did he look pale to you?

Seth Bullock: What?

Sol Star: Did he seem pale?

Seth Bullock: How the fuck do I know if he was pale?

Sol Star: He looked pale to me.

Seth Bullock: What if he was? Let's say he was. Will you shut up about it? What is my part, and your part? [mocking] "What part of my part is your part? Is my foot your knee? What about your ear?" What the fuck is that?

Sol Star: Yeah, I don't know.

Seth Bullock: What don't you know? If he was pale or not?

Sol Star: What you're supposed to do.

Seth Bullock: I'm not supposed to do anything! Let's agree to that. Not one fucking thing that I don't decide I'm gonna. All right, Sol?

Sol Star: All right. [Bullock begins to walk away] Suspenders.

Seth Bullock: God damn it! If I kill the droop-eyed son of a bitch and my part's getting hanged for it, good luck with the fucking store.

Sol Star: All right.

Seth Bullock: I will write to Martha and see it posted. You look out after that widow.

Sol Star: All right, Seth.

Seth Bullock: Can I impose on you to pack a bag for me to cut down on the cocksucker's head start?

Sol Star: Be ready for you when you ride out.

Seth Bullock: Thanks, Sol.

Plague

A.W. Merrick: May I say, Dan, having resumed drinking alcohol, I cannot for the life of me remember why I ever gave it up.

Al Swearengen: Woman lives in your fucking hotel, but you can't find pretext for pressing the offer on her claim?

E.B. Farnum: I can't outflank Trixie, Al. The whore guards that widow like a mother hen.

Al Swearengen: She's dosed her with opium, priming her for your approach.

E.B. Farnum: Be that as it may...

Al Swearengen: E.B., put that offer in your pocket, you knock on the widow's door.

E.B. Farnum: But Trixie'll answer.

Al Swearengen: Trixie answers you tell her that I want to talk to her. Trixie leaves, you gain entry, broach the sale. Can you circumnavigate the child or must I map that for you too?

E.B. Farnum: [Mutters under his breath]

Al Swearengen: What?

E.B. Farnum: Nothing.

Al Swearengen: [On hearing a knock at the door] Come on in, Doc, him and me are finished. Anyway, don't play that shit where you make me drag your words outta you. Declare, or shut the fuck up.

Al Swearengen: I'd rather try touching the moon than take on a whore's thinking.

Doc Cochran: I take it you've been out on a hoot?

Calamity Jane: I've been drunk awhile; correct. What the fuck is that to you?

Doc Cochran: The question was well meant. Like if you was a farmer, I'd ask ya how the farming was going.

Charlie Utter: [Explaining the markings on the horse of the native that nearly killed Bullock] The three red hands on the pony's flank was three men killed hand-to-hand. The red circle was one killed on horseback. The white lines on the pony's legs was times the heathen counted coup. With them, whether you mean to kill your man after or you're just showing off, you hit 'em with a gun butt or a stick or a club; that's counting coup. That's why he come for you instead of picking you off with an arrow, like he did your horse. [Pause] That was one bad hombre you got by, Bullock.

Charlie Utter: [On burying a dead Native] You ain't doin' him no favor. I mean his way to heaven's above ground and lookin' west.

Seth Bullock: Let's do that, then.

Charlie Utter: Don't you want to take him over the ridge? To his fuckin' Holy Ground and put him up there with his headless buddy? I mean, that's what you nearly got killed for: interfering with his big fuckin' medicine, burying his fuckin' buddy, over the fuckin' ridge!

Calamity Jane: I'm calling on the widow and the little one in her care, and if I was you I wouldn't try to stop me.

E.B.: Be brief!

Calamity Jane: Be fucked!

E.B.: Her gutter mouth, and the widow in an opium stupor: a conversation for the ages.

Bullock Returns to the Camp

Al Swearengen: We teach a special sweeping technique here.

[Al indicates Jewel, who is sweeping the stairs]

Al Swearengen: That widow ain't high.

E.B. Farnum: Maybe waiting till after the service

Al Swearengen: When she'd want to get good and loaded is before the fucking service, against all the fucking carrying on. What do you think?

E.B. Farnum: Makes sense.

Al Swearengen: Meaning all that whore's been telling me the last ten fucking days, about seeing the widow taking the dope, your own fucking assurances, you verify that she's loaded personally, you're both full of shit.

E.B. Farnum: I checked in on the woman daily. If I was fooled, perhaps I've chosen simplemindedness, Al, over realizing a certain friend has used me as an instrument of purposes he concealed.

Al Swearengen: Say what you're gonna say or prepare for eternal fucking silence.

E.B. Farnum: I don't believe you commissioned me to make an offer on the widow's claim to keep the regulators off you, Al. I think someone found something out there you want.

Al Swearengen: Assume you ain't been privy to the ins and outs of that matter for the sake of fucking conversation, huh? I mean, was I asleep, E.B., when you and me declared undying loyalty and full faith mutual disclosure, about every fucking detail of every fucking move we were ever going to make together?

E.B. Farnum: You used me as a pawn, Al.

Al Swearengen: And you fucked up the game is the central fucking present issue. We agreed on 2,000, you want a fucking percentage instead?

E.B. Farnum: Is that such an inconceivable proposition?

Al Swearengen: Oh, do you worry for her, Dan? Wandering the muck of our thoroughfare, her tiny self all but swallowed up in horseshit?

Miles: They're nice here. And Mr. Swearengen's funny as all get out.

Seth Bullock: You and I know how it is, Mr. Swearengen.

Al Swearengen: How what is?

Seth Bullock: She gets a square shake, or I come for you.

Al Swearengen: What if I come for you, you ready for that?

Seth Bullock: I guess I better be.

Al Swearengen: Then close your fucking store because being ready for me will take care of your waking hours and you better have someone to hand the task off to when you close your fucking eyes.

Seth Bullock: Jack McCall!

Jack McCall: [With his back to Bullock] I'm done, I don't wanna play no more.

Seth Bullock: [Speaking to others] Bein’ a loud-mouthed cunt I guess sometime since he’s been here this fella who “don’t wanna play no more” probably spoke of killin’ Wild Bill Hickok... well, we’re Bill Hickok’s friends. [Everyone scrambles out of the room]

Seth Bullock: I'm Seth Bullock.

Charlie Utter: and I'm Charlie Utter

Seth Bullock: And if you got your head blown off, sitting here with your back turned, that’d be as fair a play as you gave him.

Suffer the Little Children

Rider: God bless you, Mr. Swearengen.

Swearengen: Well, not likely. But my short-term prospects have just improved.

A.W. Merrick: Why did you strike me?

Doc Cochran: To secure your attention.

Alma Garrett: ]On her claim] Is the technical term "bonanza"? [Seth nods] It's a bonanza, Mr. Farnum.

Al Swearengen: Dan's a fucking expert. When he's not shit-faced drunk, so's Ellsworth.

Al Swearengen: My oath on this: every day that the widow sits on her ass in New York City, looks west at sunset and thinks to herself "God bless you ignorant cocksuckers in Deadwood, who do strive mightily and at little money to add to my ever-increasing fortune," she'll be safe from the wiles of Al Swearengen.

No Other Sons or Daughters

Al Swearengen: In life you have to do a lot of things you don't fucking want to do. Many times, that's what the fuck life is... one vile fucking task after another. But don't get aggravated... then the enemy has you by the short hairs.

Al Swearengen: The direction of my thoughts—with the sustained fucking stupidity that you're exhibiting, I hesitate to voice them—is that you might want to train for Phil's former position.

Johnny: Al... I have hoped for this conversation ever since you give me that Indian head to hide.

Johnny: [Coming down the stairs] Hey, Al. Any reason I can't share with Dan the, uh, proceedings of the talk me and you just had about me, uh, takin' over for Persimmon Phil?

Al Swearengen: Yeah, keep Dan in the dark.

[Johnny looks at Al, crestfallen]

Dan: Hey, Johnny.

Johnny: Dan.

Dan: What’s new?

[Johnny looks down sadly and says nothing]

Reverend Smith: This is God's purpose. The not knowing the purpose is my portion of suffering.

Doc Cochran: And is there any pain competing with the not knowing?

Reverend Smith: I'm not in pain. There are new smells I smell, and there are parts of my body I can't feel, and His—and His love.

Doc Cochran: And you want to continue like this?

Reverend Smith: As he long as He wills, this must be my part. To be afraid, as well.

Doc Cochran: Well, if this is His will, Reverend, He is a son of a bitch.

Mister Wu

[Wu is explaining his problem to Al by drawing pictures]

Mr. Wu: Bok Gwai Lo... cocksucka!

Al Swearengen: Yeah, glad I taught you that fuckin' word. These are whites, huh?

Mr. Wu: White cocksucka! [shows empty bag]

Al Swearengen: Two white cocksuckers killed him and stole the dope that he was bringing to you.

Mr. Wu: White cocksucka! You, Swedgin.

Al Swearengen: [Suddenly enraged] The dope that you were gonna fuckin' sell to me?

Mr. Wu: White cocksucka.

Al Swearengen: These two white cocksuckers? Who the fuck did it?

Mr. Wu: Wu?

Al Swearengen: "Who," you ignorant fuckin’ chink!

Mr. Wu: Wu!

Al Swearengen: Who? Who? Who stole the fucking dope?

Mr. Wu: Cocksucka!

Al Swearengen: Aw, Jesus.

E.B.: Anything the mayor should know?

Al Swearengen: The name of another tailor.

Al Swearengen: As damp as your hands are, why do you continuously lick your fuckin' thumb?

E.B.: Habit, I suppose.

Al Swearengen: Could you learn the habit of lickin' a fuckin' stump?

Al Swearengen: You can't slit the throat of everyone whose character it would improve.

Al Swearengen: [To Adams] Get a fuckin' haircut. Looks like your mother fucked a monkey.

A.W. Merrick: How many memories, fond to their recollection, have their setting in that tight little dining room?

Charlie Utter: Yeah, well it’s fucked now.

Seth Bullock: Anyways, we gotta open soon.

A.W. Merrick: Who would argue that the venue was the cause of these happy memories, nor the bill of fare? The bitter coffee, the rancid bacon, those stale biscuits that were tomb and grave to so many insects. No, gentlemen, it was the meandering conversation, the lingering with men of character - some of whom are walking with me now - that was such pleasure to experience, and such a joy now to recall.

Sol Star: Good of you to say, Mr. Merrick.

Charlie Utter: Yeah… back atcha, as far as... that goes.

Seth Bullock: Yeah.

Jewel's Boot Is Made For Walking

Silas Adams: They believe you're the man to deal with. Yankton.

Al Swearengen: I am.

Silas Adams: It's just the magistrate looking to earn off that warrant. But no one else even knows it's out on you.

Al Swearengen: Maybe the magistrate needs to die.

Silas Adams: Maybe he does.

[On Stapleton being appointed Sheriff]

Al Swearengen: Bullock, it's a ceremonial position to give comfort to Tom Nuttall, who feels the camp's leavin' him behind. Putting a badge on Stapleton makes him feel he's got friends in high places.

Seth Bullock: That job shouldn't go to a shitheel.

Al Swearengen: Where as my feeling would be it should go to a shitheel, as it's shitheel's work.

Al Swearengen: I want to tell you somethin' about the law. Please, take a seat. Separate from all the bribes we put up, I paid 5000 dollars to avoid being the object of fireside ditties about a man that fled a murder warrant then worked very hard to get his camp annexed by the territory, only to have them serve the warrant of him and to face the six-foot drop. Into the magistrate's pocket the money goes, after which he sends a message. The 5,000'll need company if I'm to be off the hook. I give you the law.

Seth: It doesn't have to be like that.

Al Swearengen: Hey Doc, how long were you planning on taking before you told me what the fuck was wrong with Jewel?

Doc Cochran: Nothing, nothing she wasn't born with.

Al Swearengen: Mmm, I mean, she told me she was knocked up but I assumed that was her gimp sense of humor.

Doc Cochran: She wants me to brace her leg so her dragging it doesn't drive you crazy.

Al Swearengen: So what'd you tell her?

Doc Cochran: Not to worry about your moods, that you generate those yourself and then you find your excuse for having 'em.

Al Swearengen: Saucy words Doc, good thing you're handy with the snatch.

Doc Cochran: I had an idea for a boot, just now measured her for it.

Al Swearengen: If you treat her as successfully as you did the minister, she'll be kicking up her heels in no fucking time.

Doc Cochran: I will leave you now to pursue another excuse.

Al Swearengen: Don’t you think I don't understand. I mean, what can anyone of us ever really fuckin' hope for, huh? Except for a moment here and there with a person who doesn't want to rob, steal or murder us? At night, it may happen. Sun-up, one person against the fuckin' wall, the other may hop on the fuckin' bed trusting each other enough to tell half the fucking truth. Everybody needs that. Becomes precious to 'em. They don't want to see it fucked with.

Sol: I won't pay.

Al Swearengen: You pay… or she pays. No home visits. Do your visiting on the premises, five. [Sol slides five coins across the bar] Seven for an ass-fuck.

Seth Bullock: That man's not here to help his daughter, he's looking to root at her claim. You went to see that whore again?

Sol Star: I guess she had to account for her being outside, Swearengen sent for me to pay him his fee. I guess she told him where she'd been.

Seth Bullock: It might have been me he found out from, Sol, 'cause I'm sometimes that stupid.

Sol Star: You think it could have been you?

Seth Bullock: I'm sure it was, speaking without thinking, justifying being in his place.

Sol Star: Being you'd been ousted from your own.

Seth Bullock: I was hot seeing that tinhorn Stapleton getting installed as sheriff, and I used poor fucking judgment.

Sol Star: Sorry Mrs. Garret's pa turns out a shitheel.

Seth Bullock: Cold enough world without gettin' gone against by your own.

Sold Under Sin

Al Swearengen: This bloated tick, Claggett, feeding on the neck of the fucking military.

E.B. Farnum: Cavalry in camp, Doc. May I number you in the reception committee?

Doc Cochran: Fuck the cavalry and the committee that receives 'em.

Al Swearengen: Walk in unannounced is a good way to get yourself killed, Doc.

Otis Russell: [To E.B.] It must cost you sleep, the guests you drive off, the chances of thievin' and bilkin' you lose needing to rub against your betters.

Seth Bullock: You and I are gonna talk.

Otis Russell: You don't account for my preferences, Mr. Bullock?

Seth Bullock: I will beat you here in the street.

Otis Russell: First-rate thinking. My daughter's agent beats her father in the street, how better to condemn Alma to deepened suspicion as to her role in her husband's violent death and widen suspicion to include yourself? Shoot craps, Mr. Bullock? Were you bullied, Mr. Bullock, when young and incapable? Now you see wrongs everywhere and bullying you feel called to remedy. The bully who oppressed your youth isn't at the table with us, perhaps he's long dead. If you will view the present with more clarity, perhaps you'd recognize that I'm not victimizing my daughter, but merely asking for a small portion of the ample proceeds from her veins. Alma is hurt only in your particular view of things. And while I'll sign no guarantee not to return, or against any future claim on her compassion, realize I do hate it here. And if you inhale and expel pure righteousness, my olfactories are keen to the smell of shit. Having heard all that and knowing, as you must, the injudiciousness of making an enemy of a man who could testify truthfully that, five minutes before her marriage, he heard his daughter wish her prospective husband dead, and who won't shrink from lying as to what she admitted to him on his arrival in this cesspool, as to her complicity in her husband's murder, I suppose you'd best take your swing.

Seth Bullock: [After beating Mr. Russell] All right. Leave this camp, and draw a map for anyone who wants to believe your fucking lies. Anyone wants to put your daughter or her holdings in jeopardy, you show 'em how to get here and you tell 'em I'll be waiting.

Seth Bullock: I don't care if the whole U.S. Cavalry walks in here, you don't want to pour another drink. You just want to listen to me 'cause if the man doesn't die whose face I just broke, he's gonna go to New York City and tell Brom Garret's people it breaks his heart to say so but his daughter had their son murdered. He'll tell 'em, knowing how he does, they won't want their son's rightful property in the hands of the woman who killed him. He'll swear to what he heard from her own lips. And those society people in New York City, who live with their heads up their asses anyway, will believe him. And whoever they send out here may take up to fifteen minutes before they decide that since you were involved in the transaction first to last. It must have been you and your boss she hired to push her idiot husband off the cliff. Of course, they'll be wrong about Mrs. Garret, but they'll be right as rain about you two cocksuckers. You tell him all that upstairs.

Dan Dority: If he don't die.

Seth Bullock: If he don't die. I don't think I killed him.

Dan Dority: Just so I understand you, if he don't die, you're saying the man's luck don't have to hold out. Now, that's the message you want me to take upstairs.

Seth Bullock: I don't swim in that shit.

Dan Dority: You oughta pin that (sheriff's badge) on your chest. You're hypocrite enough to wear it.

Seth Bullock: You just tell him.

Sol Star: I'm guessing you've done things today you wish you could amend.

Seth Bullock: What kind of man have I become, Sol?

Sol Star: I don't know. The day ain't fucking over.

Seth Bullock: May I speak?

Cy Tolliver: Mr. Bullock.

Seth Bullock: I was a marshal in Montana, my father served in the British Royal Army, and my brother Robert was a cavalryman, killed fighting the Comancheros in Texas.

General Crook: Why are you here, Mr. Bullock?

Seth Bullock: A man named Otis Russell is laid up in this establishment, he needs protection.

General Crook: Protection from whom?

Seth Bullock: Several in this camp. I beat him badly. Others have reason to wish him dead, and the camp sheriff can be bought off for half a can of bacon grease.

General Crook: Well, while we're here, I will hold Mr. Russell under protection, as a gesture to your brother's sacrifice.

Seth Bullock: Thank you, sir.

General Crook: I would add, in a camp, where the sheriff can be bought for bacon grease, a man, a former marshal, who understands the danger of his own temperament, might consider serving his fellows. We all have bloody thoughts.

Seth Bullock: I'll be the fucking sheriff.

Al Swearengen: Startin' when?

Seth Bullock: Startin' now.

Al Swearengen: You have the tin?

Seth Bullock: I do.

Al Swearengen: Produce it.

[Seth stands up, and pulls out the badge]

Al Swearengen: On the tit.

Seth Bullock: I know where it goes.

Al Swearengen: Announcing your plans is a good way to hear God laugh.

[Al puts a cloth over the face of the terminally-ill Reverend Smith, preparing to smother him]

Al Swearengen: [To Johnny] You want to be a road agent? Deal out death when called upon? [Puts the cloth tight over Smith's face, holding him as he thrashes] Make a proper seal, stop up the breath. Apply pressure, even and firm, like packing a snowball. [Whispers as Smith dies] You can go now, brother.