Robin Hood, J. Walker McSpadden [book recommendations for teens .TXT] 📗

tumble head-first into a ditch, another mire up in the swamp, another trip over a rolling stone, and still others sit down on the roadside and gasp for wind like fish out of water.

Little John could not forbear laughing heartily at the scene, though he knew that ‘twould be anything but a laughing matter if Will should stumble. And in truth one man was like to come upon him. It was William-a-Trent, the best runner among the Sheriff’s men. He had come within twenty feet of Scarlet and was leaping upon him with long bounds like a greyhound, when John rose up quickly, drew his bow and let fly one of his fatal shafts. It would have been better for William-a-Trent to have been abed with sorrow—says the ballad—than to be that day in the greenwood slade to meet with Little John’s arrow. He had run his last race.

The others halted a moment in consternation, when the shaft came hurtling down from the hill; but looking up they beheld none save Little John, and with a cry of fierce joy they turned upon him. Meanwhile Will Scarlet had reached the brow of the hill and sped down the other side.

“I’ll just send one more little message of regret to the Sheriff,” said Little John, “before I join Will.”

But this foolhardy deed was his undoing, for just as the arrow left the string, the good yew bow that had never before failed him snapped in twain.

“Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, that ere thou grew on a tree!” cursed Little John, and planted his feet resolutely in the earth resolved to sell the path dearly; for the soldiers were now so close upon him that he dared not turn.

And a right good account of himself he gave that day, dealing with each man as he came up according to his merit. And so winded were the pursuers when they reached the top of the hill that he laid out the first ten of them right and left with huge blows of his brawny fist.

But if five men can do more than three, a score can overcome one.

A body of archers stood off at a prudent distance and covered Little John with their arrows.

“Now yield you!” panted the Sheriff. “Yield you, Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, or whatever else name you carry this day! Yield you, or some few of these shafts will reach your heart!”

“Marry, my heart has been touched by your words ere now,” said Little John; “and I yield me.”

So the Sheriff’s men laid hold of Little John and bound him fast with many cords, so fearful were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he should avenge his stolen plate, and determined to make a good day’s work of it.

“By the Saints!” he said, “you shall be drawn by dale and down, and hanged high on a hill in Barnesdale this very day.”

“Hang and be hanged!” retorted the prisoner. “You may fail of your purpose if it be Heaven’s will.”

Back down the hill and across the moor went the company speedily, for they feared a rescue. And as they went the stragglers joined them. Here a man got up feebly out of the ditch and rubbed his pate and fell in like a chicken with the pip going for its dinner. Yonder came hobbling a man with a lame ankle, or another with his shins torn by the briars or another with his jacket all muddy from the marsh. So in truth it was a tatterdemalion crew that limped and straggled and wandered back into Barnesdale that day. Yet all were merry, for the Sheriff had promised them flagons of wine, and moreover they were to hang speedily the boldest outlaw in England, next to Robin Hood himself.

The gallows was quickly put up and a new rope provided.

“Now up with you!” commanded the Sheriff, “and let us see if your greenwood tricks will avail you to-morrow.”

“I would that I had bold Robin’s horn,” muttered poor John; “methinks ‘tis all up with me even as the Sheriff hath spoken.”

In good sooth the time was dire and pressing. The rope was placed around the prisoner’s neck and the men prepared to haul away.

“Are you ready?” called the Sheriff. “One—two—”

But before the “three” left his lips the faint sound of a silver bugle came floating over the hill.

“By my troth, that is Sir Guy of Gisborne’s horn,” quoth the Sheriff; “and he bade me not to delay answering its summons. He has caught Robin Hood.”

“Pardon, Excellency,” said one of his men; “but if he has caught Robin Hood, this is a merry day indeed. And let us save this fellow and build another gallows and hang them both together.”

“That’s a brave thought!” said the Sheriff slapping his knee. “Take the rascal down and bind him fast to the gallows-tree against our return.”

So Little John was made fast to the gallows-tree, while the Sheriff and all his men who could march or hobble went out to get Robin Hood and bring him in for the double hanging.

Let us leave talking of Little John and the Sheriff, and see what has become of Robin Hood.

In the first place, he and Little John had come near having a quarrel that self-same morning because both had seen a curious looking yeoman, and each wanted to challenge him singly. But Robin would not give way to his lieutenant, and that is why John, in a huff, had gone with Will to Barnesdale.

Meanwhile Robin approached the curious looking stranger. He seemed to be a three-legged creature at first sight, but on coming nearer you would have seen that ‘twas really naught but a poorly clad man, who for a freak had covered up his rags with a capul-hide, nothing more nor less than the sun-dried skin of a horse, complete with head, tail, and mane. The skin of the head made a helmet; while the tail gave the curious three-legged appearance.

“Good-morrow, good fellow,” said Robin cheerily, “methinks by the bow you bear in your hand that you should be a good archer.”

“Indifferent good,” said the other returning his greeting; “but ‘tis not of archery that I am thinking this morning, for I have lost my way and would fain find it again.”

“By my faith, I could have believed ‘twas your wits you’d lost!” thought Robin smiling. Then aloud: “I’ll lead you through the wood,” quoth he, “an you will tell me your business. For belike your speech is much gentler than your attire.”

“Who are you to ask me my business?” asked the other roughly.

“I am one of the King’s Rangers,” replied Robin, “set here to guard his deer against curious looking strollers.”

“Curious looking I may be,” returned the other, “but no stroller. Hark ye, since you are a Ranger, I must e’en demand your service. I am on the King’s business and seek an outlaw. Men call him Robin Hood. Are you one