Deadwood, Season Three

George Hearst:
These placer acres that you own, Mr. Utter, captured my attention.

Charlie Utter:
Scouts you sent previous made that clear.

George Hearst:
People whose judgment I respect assay this property's market value at $3,500.

Charlie Utter:
Seems I'm the lone holdout on the path of progress. [Charlie motions to other side of stream where men are erecting telephone poles.]

George Hearst:
By way of abbreviating our back and forth and, and maybe generating some good will, I'd go five hundred above. Offer you $4,000 even, cash money.

Charlie Utter:
My father taught his boy, uh, "beat hell into him" might maybe be more accurate... [both men chuckle] how if, uh, early enough on, you credited the settlements was coming, bought acreage reasonable, developed 'em sensible, hung onto 'em until the market come right, of a day you might could wake up and find you made yourself a respectable investment.

George Hearst:
Forward-thinking was your father then. And now, here's his boy to confirm his papa's prediction.

Charlie Utter:
Contrary-wise, man might could come to certain special feelings. Partial, say, to a piece of ground. A river bending through the forest like so. [Charlie motions downstream where both men see Samuel Fields fishing.] I decline your offer, Mr. Hearst, thanking you for your time and attention. [takes swig from flask]

George Hearst:
My experience over time has come to be: Customarily, I am he who starts a negotiation. Names its finish, too.

Charlie Utter:
Maybe getting mother-fucked this morning in the thoroughfare, by a woman in the bargain, has somewhat got your back up. Not the accolade you'd looked for out your return to fuckin' camp.

George Hearst:
Proffering that assessment, sir, is hardly your proper bailiwick.

Charlie Utter:
Far as that, I went and proffered it any fuckin' way.