When I said "pull," Jean whipped around the hand thrower with a sidearm slinging motion, but the target didn't release. So I said it again, and she tried even harder. Still the clay didn't budge. The third time, Jean reared back, putting her shoulder into it, and whipped the thrower as hard as she could. Finally, through the corner of my eye, I saw the target flying through the air-with the bright red thrower still attached. It landed in a pile of rocks about 4 feet in front of her. And lo and behold, the target was in pieces. Not to be outdone, Donna stepped up and did the exact same thing.