FISH & GAME TO HEAR EVIDENCE IN WOLF SHOOTING

A hearing is set for this afternoon in the Teton County Courthouse in the shooting and killing of an endangered gray wolf on a private ranch inside Grand Teton National Park.

    Marc Fontaine, horse wrangler for the large Wooten Bar-T-Bar Ranch, has admitted to National Park Service employees that he shot the wolf on ranch acreage late last Thursday night. He says the wolf attacked him while he was checking the stock.

    Evidence is expected from wolf biologists in Yellowstone National Park, where the gray wolf was reintroduced in 1995. There are now over one hundred gray wolves living in the greater Yellowstone ecosystem, which includes Grand Teton NP and Jackson Hole.

    The wolf, according to local wolf trackers and forest rangers, was part of a small pack that formed last year, yet unnamed. The wolf is thought to be #145, a young black female who had not yet been trapped, tagged, or collared.

    Controversy has been swirling since the shooting about the nature of wolves, whether they attack humans. There have been very few reported cases of healthy wolves attacking men. The carcass of wolf #145 is being tested now for rabies.




"Top dog," she said.

    I looked up from the canvas and found Queen holding two hand-thrown pottery mugs. "Excuse me?"

    "The alpha male. The one with the biggest balls. That's what I see in that one, that's why I painted that cold light in his eyes. See the way he seems to look right through you? You're nothing. He doesn't care what happens to anybody else, as long as he's top dog."

    I took a mug of tea as I set the stretched canvas of the wolf next to the others leaning against the log wall. The small cabin was as it always was—warm, lively, and smelling of paint. The artist's words rattled me for a moment.

    I squinted at the large head of the wolf. She'd painted it almost as a portrait, no landscape, no reference points, just Wolf with a capital W. Personality typing with color, the royal purple in his fur, the bluish cast to the shadows. I wasn't sure if the cold yellow of his eyes was because he was the alpha male or just because he was a wolf, but I was not artist or biologist. Only the art dealer. Sometimes that meant I had to think like a customer, not a critic. Most of the time, in fact. Anyway, I liked the piece, even though staring straight into the eyes of a huge carnivore, teeth and all, made me feel like flattening my ears and whimpering along on my belly. "It's a great piece. Very haunting."

    "Those black-powder types, they'll like the raw power," Queen said. "They'll think of themselves, won't they? If I ever did anything for a market, and I'm not saying I did in this case"—she waved her mug toward the wolf canvas—"well, let's just say I know he'll sell."

    "He? You've given him a name?"

    Queen paused with her mug on the way to her lips. She was still a striking woman at sixty-something, with long gray hair and an amazing black streak at the widow's peak over her forehead, a streak so dramatic I often wondered if it was real. But everything about Queen was so authentic, without pretense, from her weather-beaten, unpainted face and her muumuus in bright colors, even to admitting that once in a while she painted for the market. I admired her for that, and for her self-sufficiency, living at the end of the long gravel road, using only wood for fuel and cooking in the long Bocky Mountain winters, bartering with friends for food, living without a car in a motorized world, without a need for society in a crowded, people-oriented world. She had neither television nor radio, although she'd put in a telephone a few years back. If she needed company, she often said, it came down the road for her. Here was her world, complete, unique, and satisfying.

    But now she cleared her throat, a nervous crease across her brow. "No," she said. "I've given the piece a name. I call it Imminent Domain." She looked at me and smiled. "My father was a lawyer. But this is imminent, with an i."

    I raised my eyebrows and waited for more. Did this painting have some personal connection? Queen Johns guarded her past closely. I often thought of her as a paragon springing fully formed into this place. But that didn't mean I wasn't curious,

    When she didn't continue, I moved on. "I brought up some papers. Did you hear about the wolf that was shot?"

    "No." Her voice was very low. "One from Yellowstone?"

    "They think so. On the Bar-T-Bar."

    "Aaah. Bud Wooten. That son of a bitch would do something like that. Spend his last few years in some country club prison, I suppose." She squinted. "Is he still alive?"

    "Yes. Do you know him?" Another unanswered query; she only sipped tea. "They're into trail riding and horse breeding these days, not much in the way of cattle."

    "Is that where you took your horse?" she asked.

    "Right." Queen often surprised me with what she remembered of our conversations. "Old Valkyrie needed some taming."

    "Have you ridden her?"

    "No. I sold her to them. I felt bad enough about it that I haven't even visited her."

    The quick-fire questions had an edge, as if she was steering the conversation. She'd done it before when I asked about her old connections. As if people she'd once known were somehow suspect from knowing her. I opened my mouth to ask her about the Bar-T-Bar and how she knew the Wootens, but she hopped up and asked for the newspapers.

    "Thank you, Alix. You know I appreciate kindling for the stove." She smiled her crafty old smile, the one that made people tell half-funny stories about her being a witch.

    "Just don't push any small children in," I said, smiling.

    "Only if they're plump!" She cackled and threw her long hair back. "Now, let's finish with the paintings. I'm not sure I have another one for you besides Imminent Domain. They want wildlife, right? That's their thing. Lions and tigers and bears. And wolves." She tapped her chin. "I might have to work up something else for your committee. How long until the auction?"

    "Two weeks. But we really need to get the brochure done this week."

    "Well, we better hope there's some dusty ol' thing in the back of the closet then."