Well, I had a bit of a Deadwood binge the other evening and couldn't wait to upload the next chapter! Please read and review!

"Do I make to you now my confession?" Al asked, as he stood by Catherine's bedside, swaying slightly, though feeling more sober with every passing moment. The whisky bottle was still in his hand. "Do I tell you the truths I've kept from you til now, or do I let you go to your grave believing me to be a better man than I am?" He put the bottle down beside the bed and sank into Trixie's vacant chair. "One truth you should already know, despite my indifference towards speaking it, is that before this cursed illness reduced you to this, when I looked upon you, when your smile rested upon me, when your breath quickened under me and your body opened to me, I discovered feelings hitherto unearthed in me. Feelings, I admit, I was not practiced at disclosing. Feelings that were never present in my first venture into matrimony, yet which I have found burning within me since the moment I first laid hands on you. I find myself regretting the fact that more time was not spent telling you of this. I suppose...we always think we will have time."

"I do not," he said, pointing at her, "give up the hope that you will open your eyes and come back to me but if you should choose to move on," he paused, "I hope you will take this truth with you. That, and another which I find myself compelled to reveal to you, and that being the truth behind what really happened to you in that alleyway all those months ago."

He lifted the bottle and drained the last remnants of liquid, as though seeking courage from its fire. Placing it back on the floor, he leaned forward in the chair and took her hand in his. "Please know, that I regret what I am about to tell you as much as it is possible for a man to regret anything he does in life. I ask of you, in this life and the next, that you keep your judgment as soft as possible." He took a deep breath, "The night upon which you were attacked..."

"Boss?" Dan appeared suddenly at the door.

"I'm occupied," Al replied, irritated by the interruption.

"I know and I apologise, but Wu's downstairs and he's kicking up one hell of a fuss."

"I ain't interested in whatever it is he's complaining about now. In case you hadn't noticed, I have more pressing matters at hand."

"It's just that, well, he was talking about the Chink you've had us hold downstairs..."

Al's head snapped up, "Saying what?"

Dan shrugged, "Saying nothing that any of us can fucking understand. You're the only person able to hold a conversation with him. He just kept saying her name, over and over."

"Jesus fucking Christ..." Al got to his feet and moved to the door. "Stay where you are," he said, turning back to look at Catherine. "I ain't done yet."

XXXX

Wu was standing with his arms folded, swaying from foot to foot as Al made his way down the stairs towards him. Johnny stood at the bar, Silas sat a few feet away. Trixie was nowhere to be seen.

"Evening Wu," Al greeted him.

"Swidgen," Wu stepped forward. "Swidgen...Wai-Lee!"

Al glanced around, "Let's go somewhere more private, shall we?" He gestured for Wu to follow him into one of the unoccupied rooms and closed the door behind them. "Now what the fuck is it?"

"Wai-Lee!" Wu exclaimed again, pointing at Al. "Swidgen...Wai-Lee!"

"If you're asking if she's here then the answer is yes, and she's going nowhere until events take their course."

"Wai-Lee..." Wu began making nonsensical gestures with his hands that Al patiently watched until he finished by mimicking hands around a throat.

"Very fucking clever, Wu," he said. "You're asking me if I intend killing her. Well the answer is, I ain't decided yet."

"Swidgen?"

"Swidgen ain't decided yet."

Wu pulled a piece of paper and pencil from his pocket and began drawing a figure standing next to what Al assumed was a washing tub. "Wai-Lee!" he said, pointing at it, "Wai-Lee wash!"

"I know what she fucking does..." Al sighed as Wu then began chattering in his native tongue. "Wu, I can't understand a fucking word you're saying but if you're asking me to release her then the answer is fucking no!"

Wu stared at him, "Swidgen. Wai-Lee. Let go." He pointed from Al to the door.

"No. Do you even understand what's happening here?" Al stepped towards him. "Catherine is sick with cholera, do you even know what that is? Now she got it by drinking water that that Chink gave her and, in my book, that makes her guilty. She don't leave here until I decide."

Wu drew himself up to his full height. "Swidgen, no."

"Swidgen, yes," Al said, wearying of the conversation. "Now unless you got something useful to tell me about anything, this conversation is at an end." He opened the door and stepped back out into the corridor, closely followed by Wu who began shrieking at him unintelligibly. "Get the fuck out, Wu!" Al rounded on him, "Before I do something we both end up fucking regretting!"

Wu looked at him contemptuously, muttered something under his breath and then walked away towards the back entrance, shaking his head.

Al sighed heavily, the hours of drinking starting to give him a headache, and then walked back into the bar in time to see Tolliver let himself in through the front door.

"Rumours spreading in camp," Tolliver said, avoiding the usual niceties. "I reckon by now everyone knows the nature of Mrs Swearengen's affliction and where she got it from, but there's also talk that you've got the Chink washerwoman locked up in your whores' room."

"You asking me or telling me?"

"I'm asking if it's true and, if it is, what your intentions are."

"My intentions are my intentions and need not be explained to others not directly involved in the situation," Al replied.

"But she is here," Tolliver persisted.

"If the knowledge allows you to sleep more restfully, Cy, then yes she is here. As for what I intend to do with her, my answer remains the same."

"Folks are going to be asking."

"I don't give a shit about what the fucking hoopleheads in this camp care to know about my goings on! What I decide to do with her is up to me and largely dependent on the outcome of what is currently going on upstairs!"

"Others might argue it ain't up to you," Tolliver said, pointing at Al with his cigar. "You ain't judge and jury..."

"In this situation I am," Al replied. "In case anyone around here has forgotten it is my wife struck down."

"Yours and others in camp," Tolliver said, "You ain't the only ones affected by this now. And if blame is to be attributed and justice meted out it, is for the camp elders to decide as a group how best to proceed, not you acting alone."

"You want to call a meeting of the fucking elders?" Al stepped forwards. "You want to bring them here and ask them to decide what to do with the Chink? You think any of them, bar you, will vote against me on how I see fit to deal with her?"

"As Sheriff, and resident paradigm of virtue, Bullock might! I would expect his preference to be for a trial."

"Fuck Bullock!" Al snarled. "And fuck you, Cy! I ain't standing here to listen to anymore of your bullshit, speaking as someone who ain't been affected in any way whatsoever by this, least of all to the extent that I have!"

Tolliver narrowed his eyes, "I withdraw the offer of the use of my vacant premises," he said. "You'd best get your whores out of there before I decide how to deal with trespassers on my property." With a final, contemptuous look, he made his way to the door and stepped out into the night.

"Now Tolliver knows the Chink's here it won't be long before everyone else in camp does," Al said to those remaining once he had gone, "Best thing to do all round is slit her throat and be done with it."

"Don't!" Silas leapt to his feet. "That ain't the answer!"

"You, being so practiced in what to do in these fucking situations," Al mocked, "would offer your opinion on how best to proceed?"

"I ain't offering no opinion," Silas replied, "I'm simply stating that killing Wai-Lee ain't going to make you feel any better about what's happened to Catherine."

"Now you claim to know my feelings on the matter. I must say, Adams, that you have been most forthright in your assertion of right and wrong in this matter when you clearly have absolutely no fucking clue how it feels to be in my position!"

"I do know! And if you bothered to even enquire into my past, or what I've lived through, you would know that I understand exactly how you're feeling right now!"

Furious, Al stepped towards him, "You would dare..."

"Because of Rebecca!" Silas exclaimed, "Because of her, I know exactly how you're feeling! I sat and watched the woman I loved die once, just like you. Under different circumstances, I grant you, but it's the same feeling. She died in childbirth four years ago, taking my son with her." A hush descended over the room as all present took in his words. "I sat by her bedside for two days watching her grow weaker and weaker until she passed on, and I hated myself for it. Blamed myself for ever putting her in that position. Took me years to accept it weren't my fault. Weren't anybody's fault." He stepped over to Al. "What's happened to Catherine ain't this Chink's fault and taking her life ain't going to change anything."

Al stared at him, taking in the words he had just spoken and processing them. Adams experiences explained a lot about his character and, in particular, how and why he had challenged him over his plans for the Chink. He even admired him for his stance and told him so. "I admire your position, Adams. I admire the way you've overcome the tragedies you've faced in the loss of your family."

"Thank you."

"But please don't presume for one minute that losing your wife gives you any authority to comment on how I am feeling at the expected loss of mine!" He turned back to look at Dan and Johnny. "That Chink stays where she is for now. And unless you want to join her," he directed his words to Silas, "you will shut the fuck up and do whatever the fuck I tell you to do or you can get the fuck out of my joint! Am I making myself fucking clear?"

Silas rubbed his chin, "Crystal."

"Good." He turned for the stairs. "Now I was in the middle of a fucking conversation before Wu arrived and I'm returning to it now. I don't want to be fucking disturbed again."

Johnny leaned into Dan as Al ascended towards his office, "Now probably ain't the time to tell him E.B. sold his hotel to Hearst."

XXXX

Al could tell the moment he entered the bedroom that Catherine had messed herself again. The familiar smell that should have repulsed him, but only made him feel more disheartened, permeated the air. Trixie hadn't returned, but the clean linens she had left still sat neatly on the floor. Shrugging off his jacket and tossing it on the chair, he moved over to the bed and pulled back the covers. Catherine barely flinched as he began undoing the buttons on her nightdress, then gently eased it from her shoulders to pull it down under her body and over her legs. Without looking, he tossed it one side before carefully rolling her onto her side.

It was then that he noticed the blood, a small, crimson pool mixed with the effluence that almost mocked him as he stared at it.

"Jesus Christ..." he whispered before striding to the door, throwing it open and stepping out onto the balcony. Dan was below, uselessly wiping down the bar. "Get Doc!"

Dan looked up, "What's happened?"

"Just fucking get him!" He strode back into the bedroom and stopped at the side of the bed, his gaze moving from the blood, to the smoothness of her back and then returning to the stained bed sheets. The cause was most likely undeniable, for any woman carrying a child who begins to bleed can only assume one outcome and, in her incapacitated state, Al could only assume it on her behalf. "Still you do this," he said, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Despite my pleas you mock me now with this, take from me what you yourself have enjoyed? Be under no illusion, Travis, that when we meet in the hereinafter, it will be as enemies rather than friends."

XXXX

If Doc was surprised to find Catherine lying naked, he made no comment. Putting his bag down, he lifted out his stethoscope and then rolled her gently back onto her back and pressed it to her stomach.

"Is it the child?" Al asked from his position by the door.

Doc shook his head. "I can still hear a heartbeat."

Al felt pointless relief flood him, "Then what is it?"

"My guess would be that it's the lining of her bowel." Doc nodded as Al stared at him. "The fact she ain't eating means that's there's nothing in the way of waste product to be expelled. So, when her body contracts, that's what's coming away."

"Can't you stop it?"

"No."

"So now we have to watch her fucking bleed to death?"

"The blood loss is minimal," Doc said. "That ain't...that ain't going to be what kills her."

Al said nothing for a long moment, absorbing his friend's words. "So why does the child linger?" he asked softly.

"I don't know. If you seek my honest opinion, I'm surprised that she is still carrying. No sustenance means no nutrition for the foetus."

"So, the child is going to die?"

"Al...if Catherine dies, the child dies. If she lives..." he shook his head, "the child may be too weak to survive."

Al considered his next words carefully before he spoke them, "Does her still carrying the child impede her potential recovery in any way?"

"What are you asking me?"

"I'm asking that if the child were gone, would Cathy have a better chance of surviving?"

Doc shook his head, "A termination would have little effect on her condition now."

Al nodded, "I thank you for your candour."

"You may not thank me when I tell you that the number of cases in the camp continues to rise and that it is now common knowledge that Catherine was the first white to be affected."

"Tolliver said as much when he was here earlier," Al said. "Though the author of that information resides but next door and is yet to face me since the publication of today's newspaper. I find myself inclined to take the passage that connects our two establishments and confront him on that score."

"To what end?"

"I know not. Self-gratification, perhaps?"

Doc shifted uncomfortably, "Will you allow me to examine the Chinese woman you have downstairs."

Al looked at him, "You think I mistreat her?"

"I don't know, being the reason I'm asking, though I am more concerned that if, as you claim, she is the source of the outbreak she may herself be infected and putting those that remain in the Gem at risk."

Al sighed, "Do as you see fit." He moved back around to the side of the bed and looked down at Catherine. "I was about to tell her when I noticed that she bled."

"Tell her what?"

"That which you would have had me tell her. The truth about the night she was attacked." He looked over at Doc. "Call it my confession."

Doc stepped over beside him, "You think it will make a difference now?"

"No, but at least she can pass and I will know I kept nothing from her. Leave me now, Doc," he sat back down in the vacant chair. "Let me make this confession unseen by watchful eyes."

"As you wish," Doc replied, lifting his bag and stepping out of the bedroom. As he reached the door, Trixie appeared, her step faltering when she saw him. "It's all right," he reassured her. "She still holds on."

Nodding, Trixie moved past him into the bedroom. "She messed herself again?" Al looked up at her arrival and nodded. "Let me clean her up," she said, stepping over beside him.

Al paused and then nodded again. What he had to say could be delayed a little longer.

XXXX

Wai-Lee started when the door opened again and another man appeared. He was older than the one before, his hair and moustache greying slightly. He wore a hat and carried a doctor's bag and she found that she recognised him from the camp.

"I ain't going to hurt you," he said, closing the door behind him. "Just want to check and make sure that you're all right." He laid his hat on a nearby chair and stepped towards her. "How do you feel?"

The question posed a thousand answers. How did she feel? Frightened. Confused. Anxious. What answer should she give him first? She pulled herself slowly to her feet and looked at him. "I do not know."

"Do you feel physically well?"

Wai-Lee looked around, "I am in a room I do not know. I am here because the lady is sick...?" she shrugged, "I do not know how I feel."

"May I examine you?"

Wai-Lee regarded him warily. Her people did not avail themselves of Western medicine. Though she knew the man ministered to the camp, no Chinese that she knew had ever sought his help or assistance. They preferred to use the old ways, the remedies passed down from generation to generation, the plants and herbs that had served her people so well. She paused, thinking about Ping-Lee and now her grandmother. How she longed to know what had happened to them.

"I just want to make sure you ain't sick like the lady you speak of," Doc reassured her.

"I am not sick," Wai-Lee replied. "The other man, he say that the lady get sick from the water I give her but...I only try to help her when she ill."

"I know and I know that more of your people are sick. I know that some have died." Wai-Lee ducked her head. "And there are other people in the camp who are sick now too, like the lady."

"I do not know what has caused it," she shook her head, "We all drink the water. I drink the water and I am not sick!"

"Not everybody who is exposed will contract the disease," Doc explained. "It depends on a number of things. You can carry the disease and pass it to others without ever becoming infected yourself." He lifted his stethoscope from his bag. "May I examine you?"

Wai-Lee paused, "If I am not sick, will the man let me go?"

Doc paused, "That ain't for me to say. But if you ain't sick, there's no reason why I couldn't try and get a message to your family to tell them that."

She looked up sharply, "You would speak to Jing-Ho?"

"Is that your husband?" Wai-Lee nodded. "I can let him know that you're well if that be the case."

"And my grandmother, Ciao-Xing, you can find out if she is well?"

"I ain't making no promises, but I can try."

Wai-Lee nodded, "Then yes, you may examine me."

XXXX

The office door closed softly behind Trixie and Al welcomed the solitude. As the hours had ticked by, the thoroughfare outside had grown quiet and all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing, subconsciously keeping in time with hers. "Memory reminds me of the day you knifed that cocksucker in the back downstairs," he began. "There was I, in my office, believing that I had left you to the inane conversation proffered by Harry Manning when Dan should burst in and deliver the news of what you had done. I found myself at odds with how I should feel presented with the situation. That you had attempted to murder a paying customer should have caused me anger and yet, I found myself more concerned that the incident had left you unharmed. Finding you in the whores' room, shaken with the bloodstained knife at your feet but otherwise uninjured, gave me more relief than I would ever have considered proper. And when, the following morning, Sheriff Bullock arrived with news of the cocksucker's death and you insisted you would hang for it and give your half of this place to me, I realised that I could not imagine the prospect of you not walking these rooms, even if our only contact was for you to rebuke me over my actions in dealing with the whores."

"I am not a man prone to regret but I realised then," he continued, "that my previous actions, done with intention to hurt you, were actions I would always regret. No more so than on the evening not long after when, on that very balcony," he pointed to the wall, "you confessed your feelings to me as I confessed mine to you knowing, as I did, that I was being less than full and frank with you."

"The sorry tale is this," he leaned forward in his chair. "Upon your refusal to sell to me and to accept my first offer of marriage, I chose a path that I was convinced at that time, would lead to you changing your mind on at least one of those fronts. So, I commissioned Dan to find someone in the camp who could be trusted to carry out an act and be bound in silence forever after. I am ashamed to admit that, out of unswerving loyalty, he carried out my wishes and, on the night of your evening walk, that person attacked you in the alleyway outside the Bella Union on my order."

He paused, as though waiting for her to suddenly awaken and confront him. "You must understand, that I did not wish for you to be harmed to the extent that you were and that upon seeing you in the arms of Mr Utter I knew that a grave mistake had been made on my part. As time has passed, I have come to be repulsed at the notion that I could have ever wished you harm." He reached out and touched her hair gently, "For no-one could be more dear to me now than you."

Sitting back in the chair, he sighed heavily. "And whether, upon hearing this confession, your opinion of me in the hereinafter is altered and you would not welcome me, I do believe your journey there will only hasten mine."