My father was the head brakeman on a run taking empties to the mines and a kid who'd been squirrel hunting decided he'd take a potshot with his .410.

No fireman so Dad was on the left side with his leg propped up and the window open. He said that all he heard was what sounded like gravel hitting the engine and then felt the impacts.

He retired 11 or 12 years later at 62 and passed away at 88 with pellets still in his temple and left leg.

I was only 10 or so when that happened. Years later I asked him what happened to the kid and he told me that before a juvenile court hearing the kid moved to another state to live with relatives. That pretty much ended it.