Shane

He rode into our valley in the summer of €89, a slim man, dressed in black. €œCall me Shane,€ he said. He never told us more.

There was a deadly calm in the valley that summer, a slow, climbing tension that seemed to focus on Shane.

€œThere€s something about him,€ Mother said. €œSomething . . . dangerous . . .€

€œHe€s dangerous all right,€ Father said, €œbut not to us.€

€œHe€s like one of these here slow burning fuses,€ the mule skinner said.

€œQuiet . . . so quiet you forget it€s burning till it sets off a hell of a blow of trouble. And there€s trouble brewing.€

Jack Schaefer is best known for this timeless classic.