ASHTON, Idaho -- When a bear-dug hole allowed more than 100 farm-raised elk to flee his private hunting reserve, owner Rex Rammell -- a man with a long history of locking antlers with the state -- didn't realize he'd wind up in the governor's crosshairs.

But a month later, about 20 of the elk are dead -- shot on sight under an emergency executive order from Gov. Jim Risch -- about 40 have been recaptured and another 40 are roaming the alfalfa fields and forest slopes on the fringe of Yellowstone National Park, home to the nation's largest herd of wild elk.

Risch, joined by wildlife officials, says Rammell's elk could pollute the native gene pool and spread disease. Rammell, a veterinarian who made a career of breeding trophy bull elk for wealthy hunters and a sideshow of fighting the government, says he sold his farm last week, and may run for office on a campaign against abuses of government.

''When people tell my story, it'd read like a novel. It's like I've gotten on the wrong side of the mafia,'' Rammell said of the state hunters who patrol the rock-cobbled roads near his ranch, taking elk in their sights.

''But America will soon know that there's a mountain man out here that's not going to let the government do it.''

The western ethic that cherishes individual freedom and eyes government with suspicion runs deep in Idaho. It was here that anti-government crusaders like Randy Weaver at Ruby Ridge and Claude Dallas, an outlaw who shot two state game wardens, turned violent and gained national attention, all while quietly tapping a dormant well of sympathy among Idahoans.

Similarly, Rammell's vitriol against the government is met with some nodding heads, at least here in far-flung eastern Idaho, under the shadows of the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone.

Risch, a popular lieutenant governor who moved up this spring after President Bush named Gov. Dirk Kempthorne as interior secretary, declared open season on Rammell's elk, citing wildlife biologists and agriculture experts on the threat posed by the domestic elk.

State law is clear, Risch said. The elk are considered ''abandoned'' -- not private property as Rammell attests -- after seven days on the lam. Hunters who kill an animal have ''absolute immunity,'' Risch promised.

''Our wild elk herds are one of the gems of the Gem State,'' he said recently. ''We jealously guard that.''

Rammell has vowed to sue the governor, as well as any private hunter who bags one of his bull elk, selectively bred to grow massive antlers. Wealthy hunters paid Rammell $6,000 for the chance to shoot the captive elk and take the rack.

''If these people are going up here because the great governor of Idaho says they are immune from prosecution, they're going to find themselves in court wondering why the governor promised something that isn't true,'' he said.

In the cloistered potato-farming towns along the Wyoming border, a ragtag coterie of reluctant police officers, high school buddies and dyed-in-the-wool Idaho libertarians are rooting for Rammell.

Deputies from the Fremont County sheriff's office appeared with Rammell at a press conference on Wednesday. They vowed to stay neutral, but they will guard private property where state sharpshooters aren't welcome.

''The government's got all this power that comes against the people,'' said Clint Calderwood, a nursery owner and Rammell's high school classmate from nearby Tetonia. ''That's what people are so scared of. They've gotten so big and out of control.''

Before the escape, Rammell already had dug in against state regulators.

In 2002, he sparred with the state Department of Agriculture over fines assessed against him for failing to apply blaze-orange ear tags identifying his elk as domestic.

Inspectors also said he improperly maintained fencing on a different elk ranch and protested a law requiring testing for incurable chronic wasting disease.

Rammell took his appeal to the state Supreme Court, and lost.

Still, driving across the state in his pickup, he successfully lobbied enough lawmakers in Boise to pass a law capping how much state agencies can fine violators. The bill relieved Rammell of hundreds of thousands of dollars in fines.

A supporter, state Rep. Dennis Lake, R-Blackfoot, stressed that the vote was a statement on curbing the excess of government.

''I said it then, I'm not going to let a department use heavy-handed tactics,'' he said.

Rammell's bluster may translate to politics. He said he wants to unseat Risch in four years.

But first, he said, he will campaign for his beauty-queen daughter, Amanda, in her bid to become Miss Idaho.

''Then I'll be famous,'' Rammell said.

Amanda laughed: ''You're already famous.''