I was hunting in Florida, in the Alafia River area, using my trusty .50 caliber GRRW Leman Indian Trade Rifle, named Lucy . I was still-hunting, moving slowly and carefully, stopping frequently and scanning the area around me. There was a lot of undergrowth and palmetto scrub but pretty good visibility on a clear, sunny, cool day. At one point I had stopped under a large Live Oak to look and listen when I heard something running through the scrub and leaf litter, coming closer. Soon I saw the brush disturbed by a large animal's passing, and then a big buck deer burst out of the bushes about 20 yards in front of me and stopped broadside to me, looking back over his shoulder. I cocked the Leman carefully, holding the trigger back to eliminate the "click" and slowly raised the rifle. The buck was motionless except for his breathing. I drew a careful bead on the crease behind his shoulder and squeezed Lucy's trigger. The shot went off, and I stepped to one side to clear the smoke while I grounded the rifle butt and reloaded. I watched the buck take what I thought would be a last few bounds as I upended my powder horn and measured another charge. Imagine my surprise when he kept running out of sight to my left front, disappearing in the thickets. I got reloaded and went forward to where he had been standing, looking for the blood trail. There were his tracks, clear as day, but not a drop of blood, no hair, no wound debris of any sort. Huh! So, Lucy and I set out to track him. We followed his tracks for what must've been a quarter-mile. I paused to catch my breath and a voice in the sky said, "Tracking something, buddy?" I looked up and there was another hunter in a tree stand just a few feet away. I told him what had happened and asked if he had seen the buck. He said nothing had come through all morning. I pointed at the tracks and said, "Well, this one did!" He said he'd been there since daybreak, had not gone to sleep, and didn't see any @#**! deer. Then he told me, "I'll bet you shot at the `Ghost Buck."' He came down out of the tree stand and offered me a cup of coffee from his thermos. Then he went on to tell me that he, like most hunters who frequented that area, had seen and shot at a very big buck deer with a huge rack but nobody ever hit it. He said he personally had shot at it with his rifle and another time with a bow, both times from a stand and both times very close up. That evening I talked to one of the Game Rangers in the camping area nearby and he chuckled and told me more stories about people who had shot at a big buck deer with a massive rack of antlers but nobody had ever brought it down or even found evidence that they hit it.
I haven't hunted there in years, but the last I heard the Ghost Buck was still there and still teasing hunters. It's hard to believe but I know what I saw, and I haven't suffered from nerves for many years --- and at the range I shot at that deer, I would be unlikely to miss. I guess it's like what the hunter in the tree stand that day said, "I got so busy trying to decide which wall I would mount that trophy on that I just didn't aim!?" Maybe.