The thermometer hovered at 11 degrees and the wind moaned. There I was, snuggled up to the fireplace when my wife, Grace called me to the front window to check outa pretty decent little buck, considering the condition of the herd here in ND.
My 95 Winchester was laying on the front table. While Grace got our hound to the bedroom, I took up the rifle and slowly opened the front door. A cartridge in the chamber, I rested against the door frame and drew a bead through the Lyman #21 peep sight on the 180 yard buck. There was not much time for the shot as I was bare footed and with the front door open, the toes were getting cold.
His head was down grazing but he was turned slightly toward me. It was starting to get dark and the wind was shrieking out of the west. I lay the front sight in the middle of his chest and let a 220 grain cast, paper patched bullet fly at 2300 feet per second.
Bang-crack and down went the buck. The bullet strike did not sound like a chest hit and I worried about him getting up again.
Grace watched while I got my clothes and gun belt on. Deer still down.
The 4 wheeler would not start so it is into the pickup and out to the carcass; south west of the house on the power line. Boy, was he dead. He had his head in the way of my chest shot and took the slug dead between the horns. Like Hillary's, his brain was Jell-O.
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