So then we split up - ApprenticeDad, Grandpa, and I in one truck and Mark, Grandma, the Ranger and the dog in the other truck, going the opposite direction. So we looked and looked, occasionally seeing a jumpy buck 500 yards from anything that remotely resembled a piece of cover. Then finally on the way to lunch, we saw a group of about seven and according to Grandpa, they were about 200-250 yards away (I don’t quite believe him). So I plopped the tailgate down and took a crack at the last one in the bunch (a yearling buck) with my trusty .243. There is a very distinctive sound when your bullet makes contact with a body, kind of a thwack. We heard a thwack but he didn’t go down. So Dad and I headed after him. When we saw him, I put the scope on him, took a shot and he dropped deader'n a stone. And I was so happy.