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Call Me 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.TAUT...GRIM...UNFORGETTABLE...
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