âe~CALL ME SHANEâe(tm)

He rode into our valley in the summer of âe(tm)89, a slim man, dressed in black, riding easily.

He never told us more than his name.

âe~Thereâe(tm)s something about him,âe(tm) Mother said, âe~somethingâe¦dangerous.âe(tm)

âe~Heâe(tm)s dangerous all right, âe~ Father replied, âe~but not to us.âe(tm)

âe~Heâe(tm)s like a slow-burning fuse,âe(tm) the mule skinner said. âe~So quiet, you forget itâe(tm)s burning till it sets off trouble. And thereâe(tm)s trouble brewingâe¦âe(tm)

There was.