Inside a small abode not far from Lucky Luke and the Europeans' parked wagons, Crook sat at his desk, his feet propped up on the wood and his arms folded, an irritated expression on his face.

He can't believe that every effort he makes to put a spoke in that cowboy's wheels is proving futile. Lucky Luke is as skilled as he is lucky.

Edgar mumbles with irritation, Bartleby standing next to the desk with his usual neutral expression.

"Stupid Lucky Luke...how will I be able to defeat him?"