Around thirty years or so ago, I had a hunting buddy named Mark Richardson.
To say we were poor was a big understatement. He had just had his first son, I had two under three years old. Just starting out in life and truly as broke as young men could be. We did however have our bows and a few wood arrows. We shot most everyday at his house or mine. We had a place to hunt. It was a small paper company plot in Marion county. This was back when deer were few and far between in East Texas. We had hunted hard all year and I had not even seen a deer. Right before Christmas we camped out there for a three day weekend. That first evening a little three point came slipping thru the woods. I had been waiting so long and wanting so bad that I was not sure if it was really a deer or a figment of my imagination. As he passed at twelve yards I smacked him with a Zwickey Delta hard quartering away. I was so excited I didn't even look for blood. I ran full out (Yes I could run way back then) to Marks stand. Amazing as it seemed, He had shot a spike a few minutes before and was shaking so bad he couldn't get down from his stand yet. There was a short trail leading to both deer. That night setting around the fire with our two deer hanging in the firelight, smelling the meat cooking (We had been eating can corn and boloney all week) The excitement was over whelming. I have never been prouder of a critter than I was that buck. I was cleaning my Muzzleloader last night and remembered that the handle on the cleaning rod was made from his forked horn. It made me smile and all the thrill from that hunt came rushing back to me. Just thought I would share a little of it with my friends.
Buff