Man Eater – Chapter 3

By: J.V. Andrus

It was summer now and all was calm.  I was outside playing one evening when I spotted my run away pony, Judy.  With her head down, she stood quietly in the corral by the barn, stamping her small hooves and flicking her thick white tail back and forth in an attempt to fight off the hoards of black flies that bit at her small golden body.  Slowly, I walked towards the barn and nonchalantly swung the gate closed to trap Judy.  I turned to find myself cornered.

I was frozen to the spot.  Man Eater dove at me, white rimmed eyes full of hate and black ears flattened to the back of his head.  Grabbing me with his teeth, he flung me into the air.  The world exploded as I hit the ground and in half a daze, I crawled under the corral to safety.

Luckily for me, the jacket I had been wearing was my brother’s and being four sizes too big, I had slipped out the bottom.  I sat and watched in mute silence as Man Eater tore the jacket to shreds, then turned heel and headed for the hills.  I was soon to learn that this would only be the first of many attacks by the insane stallion.

A few weeks later, as I was riding Judy, Man Eater showed himself again.  This time he did not attack but his shrill whistle split the air as he raced away.  Judy wheeled and bolted after him, causing the saddle which was loose to roll under her belly.  My foot caught in the stirrup and I drug along behind her like a limp rag doll.  One of the ranch hands who was close by witnessed the affair and before long, he lassoed Judy, saving me.  The realization that Man Eater was truly a threat was finally beginning to dawn on me.

Man Eater stayed back far in the bush for quite a while after this incident.

One Saturday however, when we were enjoying a night in town, the ugly black stallion came down.  He broke into the corral and left our gentle old Percheron stallion dead.  The results were terrible to see.  Blood was everywhere.  The dead stallion had large gouges in his neck and skin lay open where razor sharp hooves had hit their mark.  What a fight it must have been.

Man Eater grew meaner and meaner.

Two pheasant hunters who were crossing our fields were the next to be molested by the crazy man hating horse.  Man Eater would have killed them but they managed to fire on him with their shot guns and ran to the safety of their car.

Stories began to pour in about the killer stallion, many untrue.  Some told stories of the black stallion appearing clear across the country to accost some unsuspecting rancher.  One day, the R.C.M.P. from Nanton came to the ranch.

The officers told my Dad that they were there to kill the black stallion.  He couldn’t have been too worried though, he sent me along with them!

Daddy told the R.C.M.P. where to find the horse and when we came close to the field the men took out their big high powered rifles.  We spotted Man Eater far below us in a valley, sensing something was wrong; he flung his little rat tail over his back and showed the Mounties his heels.  They posted our gates, “BEWARE KILLER STALLION”.

The Mounties sign finished it for my Dad.  Man Eater was uncontrollable. He couldn’t be broken.  He nearly killed himself and the men when they tried to work with him, so he would be useless if gelded.  As a stallion, he grew meaner and meaner, even the colts he sired were crazy and unmanageable.  It was only a matter of time until he did in fact kill someone.  Daddy had no alternative.

Armed with spears to keep the stallion at bay, Daddy took my older sister Eleanor who could ride like the wind and her little sorrel mare which was as fast as greased lightning and went in search of Man Eater.

It was a warm October day.  The leaves had fallen and I was about a mile from home when I heard someone call my name.  Snapping out of my daydream I looked up to find Man Eater bearing down on me.  Every hair on his body stood on end.  He came in at me on his hind legs, hatred in his eyes and nostrils flared wide.  The veins on his stomach were bulging.

I was frozen stiff with fright.  His first charge missed me and I jumped.  Coming alive, I ran up the bank trying to get out of the horse’s reach but as Man Eater leaped at me again the whistle of a bullet split the air and he pitched forward, landing in a struggling mass of flying feet.  Twice he almost gained his ground then with a groan, he laid back.  Man Eater was dead.

Across the coulee, Daddy stood with his rifle still poised at his shoulder, my terrified sister at his side.

The death of Man Eater marked the end of an era as the wild horses slowly disappeared from the hills but Man Eater lived on in every foal he ever sired.

We still hear stories of the killer black stallion from people who narrowly escaped with their lives.

Where Man Eater came from is still a mystery and his origin remains unknown.  I often think of that horse when I hear the scream of a stallion or see a rang-a-tang black.

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Man Eater

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