Two deer were scooting up the far side of the canyon about 225 to 250 yards away. Both were waving big white tails. I could dimly make out antlers on the lower one. The sight of these flaunting flags across the canyon made me shed 25 years. Once again I was back in my favorite Calelo Hills along the Mexican border of southern Arizona, where I had some small reputation among the local yeomanry of being a fair hand on running whitetails [BRACKET "Coues deer"]. I sat down quickly, put the intersection of the crosswires just to the left of the buck's head for lead and squeezed the trigger. So far as results went, it was almost as spectacular as a brain shot on an elephant. The buck fell, started rolling and tumbled clear out of sight into the brush and timber at the bottom of the canyon.