She came over to the bed, looking fine and sweet in a calico dress with her auburn hair fluffed out over her shoulders, and sat beside him. He reached out, took her hand, held it tightly in his own big calloused one. There were no words between them and none needed. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know, and her lips confirmed it seconds later.
There would be no more fiddlefooted drifting for Jim Glencan-non, no more lonely nights beside a string of long and lonely trails. He knew at last what it was he wanted, what he had always wanted deep down inside. And now that he had it, he was never going to let it go.
Laurie’s hand would remain clasped in his for the rest of their days. —William Jeffrey (Bill Pronzini and Jeffrey Wallmann),
DUEL AT GOLD BUTTES
The final chapters of bang-bang Westerns, once the powder-smoke cleared and the smoke-poles were tucked into leather, were generally reserved for mop-up explanations and the tying off of at least some loose ends, and for a touch of romance. The hero either opted to maintain a meaningful relationship with his horse and rode off alone into the sunset, or he decided to settle down with his lady love and the two of them walked off together, hand and hand into the sunset. Occasionally a novel would end on a humorous note; more often the last few lines were paeans to sentimentality, meant to leave the action-saturated reader with a smile on his lips and a tear in his eye.
It seems appropriate, then, the old prospector being a sentimental soul himself (as witness the ending lines of DUEL AT GOLD BUTTES above), that this final chapter be devoted to a selection of the more stirring closing paragraphs in alternative Western fiction. Your heart is hard, indeed, if these fadeouts don’t leave you with a smile on your lips and a tear in your eye...
Terry nodded. “I’d love it, Stephen,” she whispered, and their lips met as the crowd made way for the doctor.
Matty nudged old Hamp Carter and made a wry face. “Ain’t that jest too sweet fer words, Sheriff?” he said. “Beats shucks how a woman’ll swear up an’ down she wouldn’t marry the best man on earth, then turn right aroun’ an’ kiss one smack in front uh everybody. An’ no matter how bad a feller is shot up, he’s still got enough taw left in his gizzard tuh make love!” (Ed Earl Repp, GUN HAWK)
“I haven’t asked Caroline—yet. But it’s something I aim to do just the minute you hombres leave us alone.”
A faint flush crossed the girl’s face, but she looked at the gathered men squarely, and nodded. As they grinned in understanding and drew away, Utah’s arms reached up, and Caroline Bannister leaned down to meet him. As their lips met, a little form on velvet wings flitted in the opened door, circled the pair once, and settled on Utah’s shoulder, as if giving him benediction. (Galen C. Colin, DRY GULCH)
“So you knew all the time where she was at, eh?” Cross-Draw shook his head and scowled. “You certainly are one steamin’ Romeo—I expect we better git you outa here ’fore yore flamin’ ardor sets the place afire! The idea of you leavin’ that nice upstandin’ gal all tied up an’——”
“Shucks,” murmured Potent soothingly. “She was safe enough. Trouble with you fellas is yuh don’t sabe the feminine character. Sure,” he nodded, raising a hand for quiet—“like enough she did do a heap of frettin’; prob’ly got shivers all over her spinal column. But what of it? Them’s women’s joys! She’ll be countin’ that a real experience. An’ when I come wadin’ through the powdersmoke t’ save her—Shucks! Jest figger it out.” (Clem Colt, CENTER-FIRE SMITH)
She seized his hand that was about her waist and squeezed it.
“Yes,” she murmured. “And now your vision has come true. But we mustn’t let ourselves forget—we must be practical, too. I was reading some lines last night. They said:
‘In a wife’s lap as in a grave
Men’s airy motions mix with the earth.’”
“Sure, that’s right,” said Steve. “But—with you beside me it’ll be such an earth. I’ll have an angel at the gate. It’ll be paradise.” (George B. Rodney, THE SECO BONANZA)
“I know now, Gayle,” she whispered in the Corporal’s ear. “Lenore’s a secret service woman, and your sister Frances—Hilda Garfield— is one too. Confess up—you stubborn Mountie!”
“Well, Mona,” smiled Gayle, with a flashing return of his old debonair spirit, “we Mounted Police, and government secret service operatives working with the Mounted, reveal ourselves only to our own members. So I guess you’ll have to sign up also. Do you think you could raise courage enough to join the matrimonial Force as Mrs. Corporal Conroy?”
“I’ll—I’ll take the oath, Gayle,” Mona promised gaily. (Samuel Alexander White, THE CODE OF THE NORTHWEST)
The women dried their eyes and waved again and again. Joy turned and responded to their Godspeed with kisses tossed from her fingertips.
“May their trail always be through the sunshine,” murmured Stone.
At the very edge of the timber both Ladd and Joy turned to wave once more. Then the trees swallowed them.
Ladd, as he looked at his slim, gallant wife-to-be, said something he had said once before.
“Girl, if you only knew how I loved you, you’d curl right up in a spasm.”
Again Joy laughed in lilting, burbling happiness. And the heart of her lifted up and up until it seemed to float among the sundrenched tips of the trees. (L. P. Holmes, THE LAW OF KYGER GORGE)
“Look at him coming with his head up and his shoulders back, Betty,” Martha Titus chuckled. “He’s got a smile on his face like the wave on a pail of slop, and still his lower lip’s all jammed out. He’s getting himself ready not to take ‘No’ for his answer, and I bet he don’t have to. Betty Mayne, don’t you stand there with your eyes like stars and dare to tell me you don’t know what Mesa Malone is coming for!”
“I know!” the girl cried happily.
And she was right. (James P. Olsen, POWDERSMOKE PADDY)
She smiled too, then—sunshine through rain. He had taken her hands. She asked huskily: “Will—will you promise me something, Buzz?”
“I reckon so. What is it you want to ask of me?”
“Promise me you won’t ever play that—that terrible music again.”
He sobered quickly, told her earnestly, “I hope it won’t ever be necessary for me to play it again. I’ve never been a gunfighter by choice, Boots. I hate the very thought of gun music.”
They stood there like that, gazing steadily at each other for a moment, and deep understanding flowed between those two pairs of eyes. On impulse he drew her to him and kissed her tenderly. She smiled at him again—wistfully, happily this time—then hand in hand they walked toward the sunset and into town. (Tex Holt, THE LAWLESS TRAIL)