Customer Reviews

Wolf, No Wolf (Montana Mysteries)

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"Wolf, No Wolf" will never make the Sierra Club's list of recommended reading. It is third in a series of mysteries starring Gabriel Du Pré, the Métis descendant of French Voyageurs and Plains Indians, and it is rabidly anti-environmentalist and pro-rancher.

Rabid or not, such is the power of Bowen's writing and the nobility of his characters that even clean, green bunny-huggers (like me) might end up voting for the ranchers and against the re-introduction of wolves into Big Sky Country at story's end.

All of the regulars at Touissant Bar are part of the action in "Wolf, No Wolf." Du Pré, master fiddler and part-time brand inspector is cast in the role of peacemaker. With help from his friends, the Shaman Benetsee, Bart the rich-guy-turned-sheriff, Du Pré's long-time mistress, Madelaine, and Booger Tom, the ancient, homicidal cowhand, he braves avalanches, gunfire, and false medicine men in order to prevent open warfare between the ranchers and the Earth First! crowd.

There are good ranchers, and there are really evil ranchers who sell dead horses for dogmeat.

There are good FBI agents (not very many) who are either Montanans and/or part Amerindian. The vast majority of agents are feeble, clueless, and from out-of-state. Some of them are so dim-witted as to try and arrest the Shaman Benetsee, who plays a wonderful joke on them with his coyotes. (A previous reviewer compared Benetsee to Yoda. Boys and girls, that reviewer was dead-on. Lucasfilm© should take Peter Bowen to court for kidnapping.)

All of the environmentalists, New Age mystics, and Yuppies in "Wolf, No Wolf" are easily identified by their expensive, crassly-colored, mail-order garments of many pockets. They are even dumber than the FBI agents, and are easily led astray, even unto death, by the book's true evil empire (sorry, Lucasfilm©).

And die they do, by avalanche and grizzly, by gunshot and knife, and by freezing to death in Alberta Clippers. The ranchers rescue as many as they can, but winter in Montana is truly hell-frozen-over. Some of Bowen's leanest, most vivid prose is devoted to descriptions of out-landers and cattle that venture out into the jaws of a Blue Northerly.

Better to stay in the Touissant Bar and drink fizzy, pink, screw-top wine, and listen to Du Pré fiddle the sad, old Voyageur songs.

If you like Dick Francis, you'll love Peter Bowen. Gabriel Du Pre, a Montana Metis, is more woodswise than Nevada Barr's Anna Pigeon, tougher than sun-shrunk rawhide, and thoroughly believable. Peter Bowen has captured the fiery independence of the REAL rural west