Gone But Not Forgotten

I have always been fascinated by the power of words to convey a message.  When I was young, my mother used to read us stories some of which were her own.  I loved those stories.

J.V. Andrus
Dec. 2, 1934 – Oct. 10, 1989

Sometimes, however, an artist’s work isn’t fully recognized or appreciated until after they are gone – the following story has never been published but, it needs to be. It is a story I have never been able to get out of my mind.

Written by my mother, J.V. Andrus, Man Eater is about a wild mustang captured in the Alberta Foothills before the majority of wild horses disappeared from the range.

Many people like to romanticize the good old days – truth is, times were hard back then and the bitter reality of that truth can be harsh. The story of this wild mustang is raw.  It’s real. It is a battle between a wild animal fighting for a territory being encroached upon by man. So, let’s take a step back into our not so distant history and enjoy my mother’s story of a wild stallion who roamed free in the foothills of Alberta in the 1939’s or 1940’s.

Proudly, I present:  Man Eater by J.V. Andrus.

The following is Chapter 1 of 3.

Man Eater

By: J.V. Andrus

When I was a little girl, my family lived on the CC Ranch southwest of Nanton.  The Ranch, situated on Willow Creek was silhouetted by the wild and beautiful Rocky Mountains.

The land was filled with bush and farther in towards the mountain was thick timber.  I remember that it was not uncommon to see bear, moose and deer on this land.  We knew that many wild horses made their home in the mountains although they were rarely seen.

My story is about a black stallion who gained the band of wild horses and who was snared in the mountains by my Dad and his best friend Frank.

I had only seen the wild horses a few times.  My Dad, who was foreman of the CC Ranch, said the wild horses were inbred.  They had large over-sized heads, crooked legs and big pie feet.  Some were very small.  The wild horses usually had long unshed hair and the older mares had matted manes and tails that hung to the ground.

They stayed high up in the mountains most of the year and grazed on the tender grass that grew along the timber line.  Their bands were very small.  The cold harsh winters and deep snow found the colts and weaker mares starving.  Some were pulled down by Timber wolves, some by another hungry predator. During these times, wild horses usually descended from the mountains into the foothills.

The ranchers hated the wild horses. On occasion, the wild bands spirited off the odd mare and pillaged feed, leaving what hay they didn’t want trampled and spoiled.  As a result of this, the ranchers carried rifles and shot the wild horses as they came across them.

The rein of the black stallion began around 1939 or 1940.  His cunning found the wild horse band flourishing.  When the snow began to get too deep, he brought his mares down into the valley, broke into Rancher’s stacks and demolished their hay.  He added good, well-bred mares to his band and with the slyness of a fox he evaded the Ranchers and their rifles.

The Black ruled his mares with the fierceness of a Gestapo.  One scream sent the mares racing together.  The stallion would then sweep ahead, take the lead and race for the thick timber.  As time went on the black stallion became bolder and bolder.

In the spring, angry cries began to rise up among the ranchers, many of their brood mares were missing from their bunches and some stallions had been left crippled or dead.  Through the spring excitement and anger grew prompting some of the ranchers to offer rewards for the capture of the stallion and return of their mares.

The stallion however, continued to plague the ranchers for two more years.  Through his cunning, he managed to avoid their futile attempts of pursuit, bolting for the timber at the smallest sound.  The ranchers were only able to spot the stallion through field glasses.

The ranchers were at a loss at how to end the stallions ruthless raids, their confusion and anger grew.  From the few sightings of the stallion, they could tell that he was well-bred.  Where had he come from?  He must have at one time been in someone’s stock.  Possibly, he had been left behind from a round-up.  With the knowledge of the Black’s breeding, some ranchers thinking they had spotted him in another’s herd, shot and killed wrong horses adding more chaos to the already troublesome situation.

The black stallions reign was to finally come to an end after he came down from the mountain and bludgeoned to death some expensive race horses.

The owner of the race horses and the ranchers called a meeting and asked my Dad and his friend Frank to attend – they wanted them to corral the wild horses and return their mares.  As they listened to their neighbour’s tales, Daddy rolled his cigarette from one side of his mouth to another.  Although some of the ranchers had carried rifles, none were able to get within range of the wild stallion to shoot him and, it had been a while now since anyone had seen him.

One of the men at the meeting said, “The problem could already be solved.  He could be dead now!”

The race horse owner who had been sitting quietly until then flatly stated, “Well, at least he’s gotta be hurt pretty bad considering what went on up by my cabins.”

Daddy and Frank agreed to corral the wild horses and the next day at sun-up, they would be off.

The next morning at sun-up my Dad, Frank and a few other Ranch hands took their fastest horses and enough supplies to last a month then set out for the mountains in search of the wild band.

The men had been out a week and had found no signs of the horses.  Then into the middle of the second week, they came upon three two year old stallions and a heavy Bay gelding.  They knew the main herd couldn’t be far.  Six miles on, they spotted the Black and his mares with about fifteen colts.  Some were new born and some were about four months old.

My Dad and Frank were excited.  Frank had caught wild horses before but it was a first for Daddy.  They made their plan.  They would catch that stallion first and corral the mares later.

Now that they knew where the wild horses were; Daddy, Frank and the other men set snares in the timber and laid in wait downwind to ambush the wild band of horses.  When the horses were in sight and the time was right, they swept down on the herd from two different directions.  The herd was confused.

The stallion stopped only long enough to circle his bewildered, panic stricken mares.  Sweeping out at break-neck speed, he went after a big roan mare with a yearling colt, which in her confusion was running away from the bunch.  With his mouth open, the screaming stallion lunged at the mare bringing her to her knees.  The mare now subdued, followed the Black back to the others, the colt close to her heels.

Soon the crackling brush was filled with the screams and groans of fighting horses.  Unknowingly, the Black had led his band right into the awaiting trap.

The men descended quickly on the fighting horses but some were dead before the men had a chance to cut them loose.  Others had to be shot as the men could not get close enough to free them.  The roan mare was the first horse my Dad came to and she was dead.  Her head had snapped back and her neck was broken.

Daddy wheeled his horse around and nodded to Frank.  Spurring their mounts, they left to run down the stallion who had escaped the awaiting snares.

Man Eater – Chapter 2  

Man Eater – Chapter 3

Follow or Subscribe to The Trefoil Muse

Thank-you for liking, commenting and sharing!