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He rode into our valley in the summer of 89, a slim man, dressed in black. Call 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.
Theres something about him, Mother said. Something . . . dangerous . . .
Hes dangerous all right, Father said, but not to us.
Hes like one of these here slow burning fuses, the mule skinner said.
Quiet . . . so quiet you forget its burning till it sets off a hell of a blow of trouble. And theres trouble brewing.
Jack Schaefer is best known for this timeless classic.
