Shot my 5th deer of the season yesterday evening. Most I've ever shot in a season was 2 up until now. The plan was to take my 2 sons out hunting, but the younger son had a bunch of homework that he had been putting off doing. Homework not done means no hunting. So the 16 year old boy and I headed out at O' Dark Thirty for the property of a friend of mine. I received a Remington 722 in .300 Savage from a friend a couple of years ago. Her dad had re-stocked it, put in some inlay's, fore end tip, did a beautiful job and it fits me perfectly. When I picked up the rifle and looked through the scope I knew it had to be mine. No one in her family hunts and I thought it would be a suitable honor of her father to use it deer hunting. I only take the rifle out on real nice days. Yesterday was a beautiful day for hunting, it's the tail end of our season and we can only shoot doe now. As it was almost getting dark I shot a small doe with it, range about 80 yards. At the sound of the shot she took off running and ran out of sight. I waited a few minutes and got down from the stand to look for blood. About 15 minutes later my hunting partner showed up. He found the first small spot of blood. Very little blood for about 50 yards, then a real good blood trail for about another 75 yards and we found her. Perfect heart shot. I've never had a deer run that far with that little blood and that good of shot placement. that first 50 yards of tracking was very slow. We were starting to think either we weren't going to recover her or it was going to take us many hours to find her. I'm going to have to re-evaluate my handloads, the .300 Savage has a pretty decent reputation for putting deer down. After I finished gutting her out my hunting partner carried the rifle while I dragged the doe out. We got back to the cabin and he put my rifle in the gun rack outside. I still had some blood on my hands so I asked my 16 year old son to put the rifle in it's case. I didn't pay close attention to him as I carried a load of other stuff into the back of the jeep and slammed the tailgate shut. I heard the sickening sound of metal scraping on metal followed by a loud clatter in the gravel. As I stepped around the back of the Jeep I saw my beautiful rifle laying in the gravel. My son is very lucky that my hunting partner is a cop, and the ground is very rocky so I didn't feel like digging a grave.