All That Middle Stuff

Although the first and last lines weren't bad, it was all that stuff in the middle that made me not like the book.

Looking down at them, I thought it was a strange trail they had followed, those three, and how in the end it had only come to this, to death in a dusty street, nobody caring; and by and by nobody even remembering, except by gossip over a bar in a saloon. 

Seemed it was just as well a man did not know where he was headed when he was to come only to this—a packet of empty flesh and clothes to end it all. In the end their hatred had bought them only this … only this, and the bitter years between. 

It always seemed that for me something waited in those western lands, something of riches in the way of land and living, and maybe a woman. And when I found her, I wanted her to be like Gin. 

Younger, of course, as would be fitting, but like her. 

Somebody likely to have no more sense than to fall in love with a Tennessee boy with nothing but his two hands and a racing mule.

L'Amour, Louis - Lando (The Sacketts)