40 years ago, we we're driving a 125 acres or so patch of woods, Town road on one side, Ag fields on the other three, with another 100 or so acre piece of woods meeting it at one corner. Both pieces of woods were served by the same deer run crossing the road, the other piece reaching it by crossing along the north edge of the piece we were working. Unbeknownst to our crew, another was driving the other piece, and we both came out to the road at about the same time, the other guys just ahead of us. Four of their guys headed up the road toward their trucks, with a kid, maybe 14 or 15 dawdling behind. Myself and two others of our crew were following the kid up the road, maybe 50 yds back. Dad hadn't come out yet, but I planned to grab the truck and pick him up. As we walked, we heard brush breaking about where Dad should come out. Suddenly, the kid stops, turns toward the sound, plants his feet, raise his rifle and fires. Not at all unheard of to have a buck try to sneak out the back, so my first thought was, S...O...B, the kid just shot one right out from under our noses. But no sooner than the report subsided did the Old Man come boiling out of the brush madder that a wet hen; the bullet had hit a tree about three feet above his head. The kids Dad, walking in the crew ahead of him, reacted appropriately, tearing the now empty gun (maybe only I knew that, but he never reloaded) from the kids hands and apologizing profusely to my Dad and all of us. He dressed that kid down from one end to the other in front of all of us. We were all pretty shook up, and none of us since have ever joked about taking a sound shot.