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The knife and the antelope reminds me of another story from the 60's. My brother (we were in our late teens then), who's at best a decent shot, hit a large buck in the hips and the buck piled up in the palmettos. That's the good news. The bad news is that it was January and the buck was on the other side of a 30 yard wide Louisiana bayou. It wasn't deep water, but there was ice in it. No bridge available. My brother stripped down to his BVD's, put the knife in his teeth (yes, really) and waded the bayou. He found the buck, but the buck was a long way from dead. Aside from being just a mediocre shot, my brother never sharpened a knife in his life. So he jumped the wounded buck and tried to finish him off with a dull knife. Dad and I were on 'this' side of the bayou and had no plans to go to 'that' side, so we yelled encouragement. They were making one hell of a racket and we weren't sure who was winning, but finally my brother stood up, covered in freezing mud and deer blood, with what was left of his underwear. We think the deer had just finally had too much blood loss to continue the fight, but there was no blood loss from knife wounds. Brother might has well have been using a butter knife. He was also a pretty fair middle linebacker, so maybe he had just been hit in the head too many times for rational thinking.
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