Shane

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.