Chapter 17 -- My Ending for "Shane" ( by Jack Schaefer )

Chapter 17 by Kelda

You might think that is all there is tell. The folks in town and the kids at school liked to talk about Shane, to spin tales and speculate about him. I never did. I never bothered, no matter how strange the tales became in the constant retelling. They would not understand what mother had told us. Shane was with us here. He was with me, with me and mother and father.

That morning I awoke to an unusual quiet.There was no sound in the kitchen or smell of mother's biscuits baking. This early, father would be done feeding the stock and started on his second cup of coffee while pinching just a bit of raw dough from the biscuit pan. I sat up and gazed out my window. Something was wrong. I put on my work clothes, and padded outside in my bare feet.

Then I screamed, "Mother! Father!"

They stumbled out of the house. I was already kneeling beside Shane. He had fallen at his horse's feet. The gelding was drinking from the trough, moving his feet carefully around his owner. The reins were still knotted around the horse's neck. Shane was curled on one side. The blood stain now covered almost half of his shirt. One sleeve was covered from elbow to wrist where he had clamped it against the wound.

Mother helped father turn him on to his back.

"Is he dead?" I asked.

"Not yet," father growled.

Mother's eyes were slitted and sparkled like a snake set to strike. "Joe Starrett, if you can't think of anything useful to do, carry him in to Bob's room. Then bring me a bucket of water. Bob, bring my shears and that old piece of petticoat."

There was not enough room for all us in my little room. Mother told us to carry two chairs outside beside my window, where we could watch, but not talk. She removed Shane's belt and began to tease the wet shirt away his skin. Sometimes when she lifted another scrap of cloth away, fresh blood trailed with it. It seemed to take forever. Mother looked up at father. "Come help me move him."

Father jumped up - as if he had indeed been bitten by a snake - and hurried in. He lifted Shane carefully by the shoulders while mother washed his back and snipped away the rest of his shirt. Shane looked more frail than ever. He curled up again without uttering a sound. He wasn't long enough to fill my cot.

"Joe, do you still have whiskey?"

Father had it back in a flash. I wondered what on earth they could want with that. I had only seen the bottle passed around when a circle of men were having a palaver, somewhat something like the women did with their cups of tea and a new fashion catalog. Father eased Shane's body out again and Mother began to trickle it over his wound. Then father tried to give him a cup of whisky and water. Shane gave a brief but hard snap and coughed. His eyes opened for the first time, but I did not think he was seeing anything. Mother organized us in shifts so he would not be alone if he woke. Mine was always the daylight shift so I would not be asleep if he needed me.

He occasionally mumbled a few words, or sucked in a painful gasp. Finally on the fourth day, he cried out his first coherent word. "Marian!"

She was in the kitchen snapping peas. She jumped up so quickly that the peas scattered everywhere. She nudged me aside and sat on the edge of my cot. He had both hands clasped over his bandages and trickles of blood threaded through his fingers. His voice was hoarse and faint. His face was flushed, like the men who got into too much whiskey, but he had not done that. I reached around mother to touch his cheek. It radiated heat the way the old coffee pot did on the stove.

"You found me?"

"Your horse found us. We think when you passed out, the horse turned around and came back to us."

"How bad?"

Mother shifted on the edge of the bed and looked over her shoulder at me. "Bob, get your father. Sit by the window."

When everyone was in place, mother took up one of Shane's hands. She gently began to wash the blood from it. "I think all of us, especially Bob, need to hear this. So we know what you want, and don't quarrel about it." She continued to hold his hand. "The bullet is still in there. We cannot remove it. We would need a surgeon. The wound is infected."

He raised his other hand to cup her hands in his. He asked,"Joe, will you allow me to kiss your wife?"

It was an odd question, I thought. I looked at father. Slow streams of tears were coursing down his cheeks. He nodded. Nothing more.

Shane tried to lift his head from the pillow. He was too weak. Mother leaned down. She brushed aside his hair, and kissed his forehead,and finally his lips.Then she beckoned for father to come in.

"Joe, thank you for giving me a long spell of peaceable life. Bobby Bob?"

Now I was crying, all of us were except Shane. "That's a fine horse I have. He even brought me back here so I could say thank you and goodbye. So Bob, he's yours now, and you won't find a better animal in the valley. Marian, how are we going to do this?"

"I only have laudanum. Whisky or sugar?"

He managed to pull one side of his mouth into a crooked grin. "Whisky isn't good for a man's reflexes. I'll take all the sugar you can spare."

I ran outside to the trough to try to wash away my tears. I couldn't. Finally I went back into the house, wondering what was happening. There was an unfamiliar bottle on the table, rounded, dark brown, and the label said 'laudanum.' That was what mother had said. I rolled it my hands in curiosity. Then my breath stopped. Large red letters: POISON.

When I could draw my breath I screamed, "No! No!" I was paralyzed with fear and terror. Father came from Shane's (my) room and scooped me up in his arms. He carried me into the barn and sat me on Shane's bunk.

"Bob, you can't do this. You have to get hold of yourself. Don't interfere with his passing. Shane has had a hard life. We have been blessed to give him some good times."


Two decades have gone by. I did not want to be a farmer. For awhile in my adolescence, I even toyed with being a gunslinger, or a 'legal' variation as a lawman. I married, had two daughters, much to my parents' delight. When my first girl was born, the light went on in my heart and my mind. I wanted to be a doctor to help the living, and more importantly, the dying. Father had been surprised,but told me that Shane had left a roll of cash in his belongings. Father felt Shane would have wanted it go toward my future. It was a substantial payment toward medical school.

On Sundays at church, I always say, "And Lord, thank you for giving us Shane."