This classic Western is a profoundly moving story of the influence of a singular character on one boy’s life. The Starrett family’s life forever changes when a man named Shane rides out of the great glowing West and up to their farm. Young Bob Starrett is entranced by this stoic stranger who brings a new energy to his family. Shane stays on as a farmhand, but his past remains a mystery. Many folks in their small Wyoming valley are suspicious of Shane and make it known that he is not welcome. But dangerous as Shane may seem, he is a staunch friend to the Starretts—and when a powerful neighboring rancher tries to drive them out of their homestead, Shane becomes entangled in the deadly feud. "If you read only one Western in your life, this is the one." (Roland Smith, author of the Peak Marcello adventure novels) I had lain in my bed thinking of our visitor out in the bunk in the barn. It scarce seemed possible that he was the same man I had first seen, stern and chilling in his dark solitude, riding up our road. Something in father, something not of words or of actions but of the essential substance of the human spirit, had reached out and spoken to him and he had replied to it and had unlocked a part of himself to us. He was far off and unapproachable at times even when he was right there with you. "Narrative and literary superiority." - Kirkus Reviews "Taut, grim, unforgettable." - Chicago Tribune Jack Schaefer (1907-1991) was born in Cleveland, Ohio, and studied at Oberlin College and Columbia University. Shane, his first piece of fiction, began as a short story. Mr. Schaefer went on to write many other stories and novels set in the West, earning a devoted following of readers that continues to grow. Wendell Minor is the celebrated illustrator of more than forty picture books for children. His work reflects his deep interest in American history and American landscape and his desire to bring the natural world to children. He lives with his wife, author Florence Friedmann Minor. Visit him at www.minorart.com . New York Times best-selling author Roland Smith is the author of nearly thirty young adult novels including Peak, The Edge, Beneath, Above, Sasquatch, Elephant Run, Zach’s Lie, Shatterproof (39 Clues), the Cryptid Hunters series, the I, Q series, and the Storm Runner series. His novels have garnered dozens of state and national book awards. He lives in Arkansas. Introduction I was about thirteen years old the first time I read Shane, the same age as Bob Starrett, the narrator of this wonderful novel by Jack Schaefer. I didn’t live on a farm, or a ranch, like Bob. I lived in a house in the city. The only livestock we had was a dog, a cat, and a guinea pig. The only crops we raised were front and back lawns, which I had to mow every Saturday with a push mower that needed sharpening. I’d like to say that I enjoyed mowing the lawn, but that wouldn’t be truthful.    What I liked doing on Saturdays was swinging onto my bike and pedaling around the neighborhood with my friends. More often than not these rides ended up at our public library, where I would check out two or three novels, which I hoped would last me until the following Saturday if I read really slow. That rarely happened. I wasn’t a particularly fast reader, but I made up for my slow pace by spending most of my free time with my nose in a book. And I had a lot of free time, because we didn’t have iAnything back then, and only three channels on our black-and-white television sets.    Reading was nothing like mowing the lawn. It was not a chore. Reading was joyful. Opening a new book was like an all-expenses-paid vacation on a time machine to anywhere in the universe, past, present, or future. I saw the world through the narrators’ eyes. I laughed and cried with them, thought their thoughts, felt their passions, fears, and desires. In other words, I became the heroes of the stories I read.    As a result, I usually finished reading my two or three novels by Tuesday or Wednesday night, which left me without a library book to read for two or three days, but I was far from bookless.    My parents did not read aloud to me when I was growing up, but they did the next best thing. They read to themselves every evening—seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. They did not go to the library to get their books. They bought and read paperbacks. Thousands of them, or so it seemed when I was thirteen.    More than any single thing in my young life, I think watching my parents read is what made me into a lifelong reader. I was desperate to learn what they found so interesting between the covers of those books they read every evening, hour after hour. What made them smile, and frown, and laugh as they flipped the pages, completely ignoring their charming and amusing middle child?    Stacks of mysteries, thrillers, adventures, sci-fi, and Westerns were scattered throughout the house. My parents expected all of their