Mist shimmered in the pale moonlight like delicate curtains, woven from the finest silk. It clung to the earth and muffled the night sounds, leaving a stillness and tranquility Arnold “Hap” Creighton could almost touch.

Hap stood next to an enclosure on a lawn across the driveway from Yellowstone National Park’s Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel. The enclosure contained six gray timber wolves, who were the subject of a heated debate, the noise from which cascaded like a roaring falls from the hotel, crowded as usual with tourists and visitors who must have been wondering what all the commotion was about.

Mammoth Hot Springs Hotel is a four-story building constructed in 1934. Surrounding it are a number of other buildings: dining facilities, general store, and gas station as well as park offices, maintenance shops, and residences for the rangers and resort employees. At one end of the hotel lobby is the Map Room, generally the site for natural history lectures of just quiet repose to the sound of a baby grand piano. This night, however, the Map Room had been reserved by the park’s wildlife managers to introduce a new program to bring timber wolves, the only mammal missing in Yellowstone, back to the park. the carefully planned presentation had turned into a rowdy free-for-all about the value of wolves. It was their presence in the park that had pitted the rangers and zoologists against the area’s ranchers. Every so often, an individual’s voice rose above the general commotion, and Hap would hear ...

“... You know those animals will kill my livestock, Doctor, yet you want to set those killers loose.”

“That’s simply not true.” The doctor was Margaret Creighton, zoologist specializing in mammals and Hap’s mother. She was at the very center of the storm.

“Oh but it is, Doctor Creighton.” That was the voice of one of the ranchers. “Coyotes attack my calves all the time. Wolves’ll do the same. Even more. Every time I lose a calf, I lose hundreds of dollars from the beef that calf produces.”

Each time the noise peaked, the wolves flinched. Hap squatted to be closer to them and talked quietly to settle them down.

“Sweet Angelique,” he comforted. “All that noise upsets you, doesn’t it?”

# # #

 “Now, Art.” That was Billy Knight, who had thirty years’ experience in the Park Service. He had graduated from a college in Colorado with a degree in forestry but wanted to do more than manage trees, so he’d continued his education, learning about wildlife management. Now the Park Service had assigned him to bring wolves back to Yellowstone. “We’re going to manage the wolves born here. We’ll keep them right here in the park.”

“If you don’t, Billy,” the rancher snarled, “I’ll shoot’em on sight. I don’t care what the law says.”

Hap started toward the building, uncertain and worried. He wanted to hear the argument but he also was concerned about the animals. He returned to the pen and was greeted by Boltar, a 160-pound wolf who was nearly as long, nose to tail, as Hap was tall. When he put his front paws up on the fence, he was face-to-face with Hap. Boltar’s furry, dark-rimmed ears twitched at the noise while Hap looked into golden eyes staring wisely from a face distinguished by unique color patterns in his fur.

“We’ll never let them kill you, Boltar,” Hap insisted, nervously running a hand through his coarse, black hair that seemed to have a will of its own. “Never!”

Boltar dropped to the ground and backed slowly away from Hap – back into the shadows of the pen. All six of the wolves stood shoulder to shoulder, heads down, staring cautiously past the boy. Hap turned to see what had startled the wolves and found himself looking at Heather Wellingham standing a few yards behind him.

Heather was the daughter of one of the Montana ranchers, who was arguing against wolves in the park. She lived with her widower-father and brother just outside Yellowstone on an 40,000-acre spread near Livingston. Heather was pure country. She was slim, yet had the health and strength of a farm-raised girl and a youthful figure that promised she would mature into a beautiful woman. Her face appeared sculpted in the classic Greek style; tall forehead, straight, slender nose, and rounded chin. Her mouth was broad and the corners of her lips turned up coquettishly when she smiled, which was often.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Aren’t they dangerous?”

“Nah,” Hap said as casually as he could, nervous about having to talk to the pretty girl. “You just have to understand wolves. As long as you don’t do something dumb and frighten them, they’re really very affectionate.”

“Is it all right if I come closer?”

“Sure. Come on.” Hap was pleased the girl wasn’t frightened. “I’ll introduce you.”

Heather walked up to the pen and stood next to Hap.

“What’s your name?” he ventured.

“Heather,” she said. “Heather Wellingham.”

Hap stuck out his hand. “I’m Hap Creighton. My mom’s the professor. She and I brought these wolves to Yellowstone.”

“Oh.” Heather hesitated to shake Hap’s hand. “Maybe I oughtn’t be here.”

“Why not? I won’t let them eat you.”

“It’s not that. My daddy is ...”

At that moment, the voice of one of the ranchers got so loud the teenagers could easily hear him from the holding pen.

“Billy, you bring these Easterners out here with their vicious animals, and now you think you’re goin’ to get us to accept them. I won’t, Billy, and that’s a solemn promise. I just won’t.”

Heather pointed toward the lodge. “That’s my daddy. Art Wellingham. We’ve got one of the best cattle ranches in Montana.”

“You feel the same way he does?”