James Smith - Hybrid

“I really came here to—”

“Unfortunately, those wolves didn’t know about Yellowstone boundaries, so they denned on a ranch just outside the Park. Everybody around got all worked up. Mad as hell. Their cattle were going to become feedstock for the wolves and their pups. Can you guess what happened?”

Dieter didn’t answer.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Cattle and sheep even grazed within sight of the den. We monitored the situation every week. Not a single livestock death was ever linked to a wolf. But of course, we eventually had to come in and capture and move the entire pack.”

“Because?”

“Too damn many complaints, Dr. Harmon. You see, we do care about those who live here, despite the propaganda you hear. Like the eloquent tales I heard from your friend Joshua Pendleton.”

“People in Colter aren’t the ones who asked for the wolves,” Dieter replied. “That was a political decision. Made two thousand miles away in Washington.”

Corey clasped his hands behind his back and looked out the window again. “How long have you been a veterinarian, Dr. Harmon?”

“I really don’t think we have anything more to discuss.” He gripped the arms of his chair to stand.

“I would think,” Corey said, “that a professional who takes care of animals would have a better understanding of wildlife and the issues we face in the Park.” He strolled over to a credenza beside the window and mechanically poured a mug of coffee without offering anything to his guest.

Dieter scooted to the edge of his chair. “So, why are you so opposed to even considering the idea of wolves killing livestock outside the Park?”

“There’s no reason to get upset.”

“Who’s upset? I came here to ask the superintendent why there’s been no action.”

“Do you have any idea,” Corey asked, “how many bear attacks we have each year in the Park?” He took a sip of coffee. “The average number the last two decades has been nine a year. We had thirteen last year alone. And I’ve just been talking about attacks on people. Would you like to take a guess at the number of bear kills on sheep and cattle and horses on farms and ranches near the Park?”

Corey paused as if to give Dieter time to digest his point. “Okay, look. We’ve called in a team of experts. They’re investigating all the attacks we know about. Give us a little time. We’ll get to the bottom of this. I can promise you that.”

“Time is what we don’t have.”

Corey shrugged. “So, what would you like me to do, Dr. Harmon?”

“Josh Pendleton and I are working together on this. We’ve done some probing on our own. We think a renegade wolf is responsible for most of these kills. Maybe all of them.”

Corey cocked his head to one side, as if listening to nothing but balderdash. “One lone wolf?”

“A solitary wolf. One far bigger than any of the others.”

“So, tell me… what kind of probing have the two of you done?”

“We’ve looked at tracks and examined corpses,” Dieter replied.

“What types of corpses?”

“Just hear me out. We’re willing to help search. I can get ten or more volunteers with a few phone calls right now. I could ask Claire Manning from the Weekly to put out the word.”

“You can ask who?”

“Claire Manning. The editor-in-chief at—”

“I know who she is. How do you know her?”

Corey’s face shouted that Manning was the wrong name to bring up. “She stopped by the cabin to ask me about the body on the Madison.”

“A reporter for a newspaper just happened to stop by and ask you about a murder? You ushered her right in, offered her a glass of wine, and gave her all the gory details, I suppose. Did you smile for her camera or just give a somber look, maybe one more befitting a professional in the community?”

Dieter rose from his chair.

“What would you propose to do with this army of volunteers?” Corey asked.

“Look for tracks… search the Park perimeter.”

“Were you aware, Dr. Harmon, that hunting down one of our wolves is a federal offense? You could get six months in the pen.”

“I know it’s illegal inside the Park, but if we can take care of the problem outside park boundaries.”

“You mean, shoot the wolf?” Corey asked.

“If it’s threatening our livestock and families, yes.”

“Shoot an endangered species? Let me ask you a question. Let’s suppose for a moment you and Joshua are correct. A renegade wolf has drifted off from one of the packs. Gone on a killing rampage and is on the loose right now. You would propose we track it down? Destroy it?”

“It could be captured,” Dieter said, “and moved to another wilderness area.”

“Captured? Because the animal is killing some domestic livestock that ranchers are making no small profit from?” A sudden calm came over Corey. “You know, Dr. Harmon, in nature there’s no such thing as right or wrong. Agreed?”

“I don’t see where you’re going.”

“You’ve made a career of treating pets and farm animals. Does a wild animal have rights in this world?”

“To some degree… of course.”

“I’m not talking about dogs and cats in comfy homes. What about creatures without a highfalutin lobby to protect their rights.” He rose out of his chair and walked to the corner of his desk where he sat and pressed his hands against one knee. “Do you think, Dr. Harmon, that an animal has a soul?”

“I certainly believe animals have feelings and emotions.”

“That’s not what I’m asking. Does a wolf have a soul? A soul like you and me. An immortal spirit? An afterlife?”

“I’m just a vet, Mr. Corey, not a theologian.”

“I take it you’re not a philosopher either. Aristotle believed animals have souls. Have you studied Aristotle by chance? Or do you just read the sports pages?”

Dieter turned for the door. “I’m sorry, but we’re just not getting anywhere on this. Have a good day.”

Corey banged a fist on his desktop. “Another thing before you go.” His chest heaved rapidly as he spoke. “If a ranger of mine catches anyone within the boundaries of the goddamn park, even looking like he’s hunting wolves, you understand how the full force of the law will come slamming down on him like a sledge hammer?”

The door creaked open and the secretary stuck her head in. “Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Corey. The gentleman from the Oregon Lab is on the line for you.”

Corey nodded and with a flip of his hand motioned Dieter toward the door. “Remember, Dr. Harmon, this is wild country. You need to be careful out there.”

Awolf has a soul? As he drove to Molly and the Judge’s place, Dieter thought about the conversation with Jack Corey—more a sermon to a congregation of one. And the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. The threat bounced around inside his head like a verse from an old song that wouldn’t go away.

If a ranger of mine catches anyone even looking like he’s hunting wolves… .

It wasn’t just what Corey said that grated on him, it was the determined rage in his eyes while he preached. Dieter wasn’t up to threats, especially when coming from the likes of an asinine bureaucrat on a mission.

He made his way to Molly and the Judge’s while the idea was still hot on his mind. The notion had come to him twice: first, when Molly told him about the towering antenna on their roof and the Judge’s hobby. The next time was the day before, as he stared out the office picture window in Jack Corey’s office.

Dieter had called ahead of time to see if the Judge would give him a tour of his amateur radio setup and talk about his idea. He followed the Judge as he wheeled into a small back corner room, explaining over his shoulder that Molly had gone out on one of her excursions. A rack of electronics surrounded a cluttered desk. Wires dangled from the back of the hardware that displayed dials like on an aircraft console.