It was 5:30 p.m. before I saw the first deer of the afternoon. A young, basket-racked 10-point came from the creek at a gallop. He had a large, fresh scar on his right hindquarter, his flesh pink and bloody. Obviously another buck had taught him a lesson, an antler tine digging deep through hide and skin. A little while later, a dink 4-point came from up the draw to the north. He was skittish, skirting around the edge. A single doe wandered further away by the creek, none of the bucks showed an interest in her. It was sunset, shadows growing long, when both deer stared hard to the south. In locations like that rugged riparian zone of the Texas Panhandle, you truly never know what will step out.