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. There's something about him, Mother said. Something . . . dangerous . . . He's dangerous all right, Father said, but not to us. He's like one of these here slow burning fuses, the mule skinner said. Quiet . . . 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.