By Tim Worel
Every year my two brothers and I slug hunt in northwestern Minnesota. One year, I was going across a big grass field when a nice buck got up in front of me. I shot him.
My brother Ken was closest to me and I needed him to help me drag the buck out. He was sitting on a bucket by a fence at the end of the field about 300 yards from me. Suddenly, five shots rang out in the woods east of my brother and me. A nice buck ran out of the woods and was heading right for my brother. I pulled out my binoculars and watched the buck run right at him. I was wondering why he wasn't shooting. The buck jumped the fence. It looked like the buck knocked him off the bucket. They both crashed to the ground and in a couple of seconds I heard the sound of a gun going off. When I got to my brother he was pretty excited. I said, "How come you waited so long to shoot?" He looked at me and said, "I forgot to load my gun!" When he finally got a bullet in his gun and looked up, the buck was about four feet from him. He just pointed and shot from the hip. He had hit the buck in the back.
The next morning Ken got up and had a big bruise on his front hipbone, but there were two nice bucks in the truck.