I was easing up a road one cold, late January afternoon. I spot two does at the edge of the road just a little higher up elevation wise than myself. They make a few hops down the side of the road then stop, look at me, then back into the hardwoods, me again, etc. I hear leaves crunching and get my rifle trained toward an opening. Up trots a nice 9 point, nose to the ground. He stops facing me dead on at about 25 yards. Without hesitation I put one dead in his chest. He wheels around and flops down into a depression out of sight but didn’t go anywhere. This is the second largest buck I’ve ever killed. I pull my bolt, catch my brass and chamber another round. I’m standing still watching and listening. After maybe 45 seconds I hear leaves crunching again. This deer trots back up to where I just shot him from, looks at me, then takes off into the trees in a second. I didn’t fire a second shot. I was pretty sure I heard it fall a ways back. Well, I go to where it was standing and look for blood. Nothing to be found. I learn the area right behind it was about 6-7 feet below the little rise it stood on when I shot. I can see freshly broken saplings and disturbed leaves. I figure I have a tracking job. Then I notice a deer butt and balls about 25 feet away sticking out from some palmettos. My deer is right there. There was a second buck that was a twin to the first. I saw him again, back on the does, chasing them across the road while I waited for a buddy to bring a ride.
My shot went through the heart and the liver and lodged in the rear right ham.