My crosshair slowly steadied on the shoulder of the heavy-tined Coues buck 402 yards below me as I exhaled an exaggerated deep breath and begin to squeeze through the trigger. The percussion shattered the deafening morning silence. Recovering from the recoil, I caught a mere flick of the waiving white tail as the buck dove off the ridge and into the depths of a deep, cedar-choked canyon seemingly unscathed. My mind raced. Did I miss? I surely didn’t hear the unmistakable audible report of my bullet impacting flesh and bone. I know misses happen, but my rest was solid, trigger break was clean and the rifle I was shooting consistently shoots su