If he [Tom Chaney] is not in a shallow grave somewhere between here and Fort Smith, he is gone, long gone. Thanks to Mr. LaBoeuf we missed our shot! He barked and the birds have flown. Gone, gone, gone! Lucky Ned and his cohort, gone! Your fifty dollars, gone! Gone the whiskey — seized as evidence. The trail is cold if there ever was one. I'm a foolish old man who has been drawn into a wild goose chase by a harpy in trousers and a nincompoop. Mr. LaBoeuf can wander the Choctaw nation for as long as he likes. Perhaps the local Indians will take him in and honor his gibberings by making him chief! Sister, you may go where you like. Our engagement is terminated. I bow out.