HOW  ROBIN           HOOD            BECAME       AN      OUTLAW

In  the      days   of        good  King    Harry the      Second          of        England—he            of the      warring sons—there         were  certain           forests           in         the      north country set       aside  for      the      King’s hunting,       and     no       man    might shoot deer   therein under penalty          of        death.            These forests          were  guarded        by       the King’s Foresters,     the      chief   of        whom,           in         each wood, was     no       mean man but      equal  in         authority      to        the      Sheriff           in         his       walled town,           or even   to        my      lord    Bishop           in         his       abbey.

One          of        the      greatest         of        royal  preserves      was     Sherwood    and Barnesdale forests            near   the      two     towns            of        Nottingham and Barnesdale.  Here   for      some  years dwelt  one     Hugh  Fitzooth        as        Head  Forester, with    his       good  wife    and     son     Robert. The boy     had     been   born   in         Lockesley town—in      the      year    1160, stern  records          say —and     was     often  called Lockesley, or        Rob     of        Lockesley.     He       was     a          comely, well-knit   stripling,        and     as soon   as        he       was     strong            enough          to        walk   his       chief delight            was to        go       with    his       father            into     the      forest.            As        soon   as        his right   arm received           thew  and     sinew he       learned          to        draw  the      long    bow and     speed a          true arrow.  While on       winter            evenings       his       greatest         joy was     to        hear   his       father            tell      of bold          Will     o’        the      Green,           the outlaw,          who    for      many summers       defied            the      King’s Foresters      and feasted          with    his       men    upon  King’s deer.  And    on       other  stormy days the      boy learned          to        whittle           out      a          straight          shaft   for      the      long    bow,  and tip       it with            gray    goose feathers.

The           fond   mother          sighed            when she      saw     the      boy’s  face    light    up at        these woodland     tales.  She     was     of        gentle            birth,  and     had     hoped to        see      her      son     famous at     court  or        abbey.           She     taught            him     to read   and     to        write, to        doff    his       cap     without awkwardness     and     to answer          directly          and     truthfully      both   lord    and     peasant.        But the          boy, although       he       took   kindly to        these  lessons           of        breeding,      was     yet happiest when       he       had     his       beloved         bow    in         hand  and     strolled          at will,    listening        to        the murmur of        the      trees.

Two          playmates     had     Rob     in         these  gladsome      early   days.  One    was     Will Gamewell,    his       father’s         brother’s      son,    who    lived   at        Gamewell     Lodge, hard   by Nottingham        town. The     other  was     Marian          Fitzwalter,    only    child   of the      Earl     of Huntingdon.       The     castle of        Huntingdon could  be       seen   from   the top      of        one     of the tall      trees   in         Sherwood;   and     on       more  than   one bright day     Rob’s  white signal from  this     tree    told     Marian          that    he       awaited her      there: for      you     must   know that

Rob     did      not      visit     her      at        the      castle.            His      father            and     her father            were  enemies. Some      people           whispered    that    Hugh  Fitzooth        was the      rightful          Earl     of Huntingdon,       but      that    he       had     been   defrauded    out of        his       lands  by       Fitzwalter, who      had     won    the      King’s favor  by       a crusade         to        the      Holy   Land.  But      little    cared Rob     or        Marian          for      this enmity,          however       it          had     arisen.           They   knew  that    the      great green—wood was     open  to        them, and     that    the      wide,  wide   world was     full      of        the scent  of        flowers          and     the      song   of        birds.

Days         of        youth speed all        too      swiftly,          and     troubled        skies   come  all too      soon. Rob’s  father            had     two     other  enemies        besides          Fitzwalter,    in the      persons         of        the lean        Sheriff           of        Nottingham and     the      fat Bishop           of        Hereford.     These three enemies         one     day     got      possession    of the      King’s ear      and     whispered    therein          to such          good—or      evil—purpose that    Hugh  Fitzooth        was     removed       from   his       post of          King’s Forester.       He and     his       wife    and     Rob,   then   a          youth of        nineteen,      were descended upon, during            a          cold    winter’s         evening,        and     dispossessed            without warning.       The     Sheriff           arrested        the      Forester        for      treason—of which, poor   man,  he was           as        guiltless         as        you     or        I—and           carried           him to        Nottingham jail.     Rob     and     his mother   were  sheltered      over   night  in         the jail,     also,   but      next    morning        were roughly          bade   to        go       about their business.       Thereupon   they    turned           for      succor            to their          only    kinsman, Squire            George          of        Gamewell,    who    sheltered      them  in         all kindness.

But           the      shock,            and     the      winter            night’s           journey,        proved too      much for      Dame Fitzooth.      She     had     not      been   strong            for      some  time before           leaving           the      forest.            In less             than   two     months          she      was no       more. Rob     felt      as        though          his       heart  was broken  at        this     loss.    But scarcely         had     the      first     spring            flowers          begun            to        blossom upon her      grave,            when he       met     another         crushing        blow   in         the      loss     of his       father. That stern  man    had     died    in         prison            before           his       accusers could  agree upon  the charges  by       which he       was     to        be       brought         to trial.

Two          years  passed           by.      Rob’s  cousin            Will     was     away  at        school; and     Marian’s father,     who    had     learned          of        her      friendship     with    Rob,   had sent    his       daughter       to the court  of        Queen           Eleanor.        So       these  years were  lonely ones   to        the      orphaned lad.         The     bluff   old      Squire            was     kind to        him,    but      secretly         could  make  nothing         of one            who    went  about brooding       and     as        though          seeking          for      something    he       had lost.        The truth  is         that    Rob     missed           his       old      life      in         the      forest no       less     than his mother’s            gentleness,   and     his       father’s         companionship.      Every time    he twanged the            string of        the      long    bow    against           his       shoulder       and heard the      gray    goose shaft sing,    it          told     him     of        happy            days   that    he could  not      recall.

One          morning        as        Rob     came  in         to        breakfast,     his       uncle  greeted him     with,  “I have           news  for      you,    Rob,   my      lad!”   and     the      hearty            old Squire            finished         his draught  of        ale       and     set       his       pewter          tankard down with    a          crash.

“What     may    that    be,      Uncle Gamewell?” asked the      young            man.

“Here       is         a          chance           to        exercise         your   good  long    bow    and     win a          pretty            prize. The     Fair     is         on       at        Nottingham,            and     the Sheriff           proclaims      an       archer’s tournament.       The     best    fellows           are      to have   places            with    the      King’s Foresters,     and the         one     who    shoots straightest    of        all        will      win     for      prize   a          golden           arrow—a useless bauble           enough,        but      just     the      thing  for      your   lady    love,   eh,      Rob     my boy?” Here  the      Squire            laughed         and     whacked       the      table   again  with    his tankard.

Rob’s       eyes    sparkled.       “‘Twere         indeed           worth shooting        for,     uncle mine,”           he said.         “I         should           dearly            love    to        let       arrow fly alongside      another         man.  And    a          place among           the      Foresters      is what  I           have   long    desired.         Will     you     let       me      try?”

“To           be       sure,” rejoined        his       uncle. “Well  I           know that    your   good mother would        have   had     me      make  a          clerk   of        you;    but      well    I           see that    the      greenwood  is where        you     will      pass    your   days.  So,      here’s            luck to        you     in         the      bout!”            And    the huge       tankard         came  a          third   time into     play.

The           young            man    thanked        his       uncle  for      his       good  wishes,          and set       about making         preparations            for      the      journey.        He       traveled lightly;           but      his       yew    bow must     needs have   a          new    string,            and     his cloth-yard    arrows           must   be       of        the straightest        and     soundest.

One          fine     morning,       a          few     days   after,  Rob     might have   been   seen passing          by way          of        Lockesley      through         Sherwood    Forest            to Nottingham town. Briskly walked        he       and     gaily,  for      his       hopes were  high    and never an       enemy           had     he       in         the wide       world.            But      ‘twas  the      very last      morning        in         all        his       life      when he       was     to        lack an           enemy! For,    as        he       went  his       way    through         Sherwood,   whistling       a          blithe tune, he        came  suddenly       upon  a          group of        Foresters,     making          merry beneath        the spreading          branches       of        an       oak-tree.       They   had     a huge   meat  pie      before           them  and were      washing        down prodigious    slices  of it          with    nut      brown           ale.

One          glance            at        the      leader            and     Rob     knew  at        once   that    he had     found an enemy.    ‘Twas the      man    who    had     usurped        his       father’s place  as        Head  Forester, and          who    had     roughly         turned           his       mother out      in         the      snow. But      never a          word  said he          for      good  or        bad,    and would            have   passed           on       his       way,   had     not      this     man, clearing          his throat            with    a          huge   gulp,   bellowed       out:    “By     my      troth, here   is         a pretty little    archer!          Where           go       you,    my      lad,     with    that    tupenny        bow and     toy arrows? Belike he       would            shoot at        Nottingham Fair!   Ho!     Ho!”

A   roar    of        laughter        greeted         this     sally.   Rob     flushed,         for      he       was mightily proud       of        his       shooting.

“My          bow    is         as        good  as        yours,”          he       retorted,       “and   my shafts will      carry  as straight    and     as        far.     So       I’ll        not      take    lessons           of any     of        ye.”

They        laughed         again  loudly            at        this,    and     the      leader            said     with     frown:

“Show     us        some  of        your   skill,    and     if          you     can     hit       the      mark here’s            twenty silver           pennies         for      you.    But      if          you     hit       it          not you     are      in         for      a          sound            drubbing       for your        pertness.”

“Pick        your   own    target,”         quoth Rob     in         a          fine     rage.  “I’ll      lay       my head   against that purse that    I           can     hit       it.”

“It shall    be       as        you     say,”   retorted        the      Forester        angrily,          “your head   for      your sauciness        that    you     hit       not      my      target.”

Now         at        a          little    rise     in         the      wood a          herd   of        deer   came grazing          by,      distant           full fivescore            yards. They   were  King’s deer,  but      at that    distance        seemed         safe    from any      harm. The     Head  Forester        pointed to        them.

“If your   young            arm    could  speed a          shaft   for      half     that    distance,       I’d shoot with   you.”

“Done!”  cried   Rob.   “My    head   against           twenty           pennies         I’ll        cause yon fine fellow    in         the      lead    of        them  to        breathe         his       last.”

And          without         more  ado     he       tried   the      string of        his       long    bow, placed            a          shaft thereon,         and     drew  it          to        his       ear.     A         moment, and     the      quivering      string sang   death as        the      shaft   whistled        across            the glade. Another        moment        and     the      leader            of        the herd       leaped           high in         his       tracks and     fell      prone,           dyeing           the      sward with    his       heart’s blood.

A   murmur        of        amazement  swept through         the      Foresters,     and     then   a growl of rage.         He       that    had     wagered       was     angriest         of        all.

“Know     you     what  you     have   done, rash    youth?”         he       said.   “You   have killed  a King’s         deer,  and     by       the      laws    of        King    Harry your   head   remains forfeit.           Talk    not to me      of        pennies         but      get      ye        gone   straight,        and let       me      not      look    upon  your   face again.”

Rob’s       blood boiled            within            him,    and     he       uttered          a          rash speech.          “I         have looked upon  your   face    once   too      often  already,         my      fine Forester.       ‘Tis      you     who wear     my      father’s         shoes.”

And          with    this     he       turned           upon  his       heel    and     strode            away.

The           Forester        heard his       parting          thrust with    an       oath.  Red     with    rage he       seized his      bow,  strung            an       arrow,           and     without         warning launched       it          full      af’       Rob.   Well was       it          for      the      latter  that    the Forester’s     foot    turned           on       a          twig    at        the      critical instant,        for      as it          was     the      arrow whizzed        by       his       ear      so        close   as        to        take    a stray strand of        his       hair     with    it.        Rob     turned           upon  his       assailant,       now twoscore      yards away.

“Ha!”       said     he.      “You   shoot not      so        straight          as        I,          for      all        your bravado.       Take this       from   the      tupenny        bow!”

Straight   flew    his       answering    shaft. The     Head  Forester        gave   one     cry, then fell        face    downward   and     lay       still.     His      life      had     avenged        Rob’s father,           but      the      son was         outlawed.     Forward        he       ran      through         the forest,            before           the      band  could  gather their scattered      wits—still      forward into     the      great  greenwood. The     swaying         trees seemed          to        open  their arms   to        the      wanderer,    and     to        welcome       him     home.

Toward   the      close   of        the      same  day,    Rob     paused          hungry          and weary            at        the cottage  of        a          poor   widow           who    dwelt upon  the outskirts        of        the      forest.            Now   this widow   had     often  greeted         him kindly in         his       boyhood       days,  giving him     to        eat and         drink. So       he boldly            entered         her      door.  The     old      dame was     right   glad    to        see him, and     baked him     cakes  in         the      ashes,            and     had     him     rest     and     tell      her his       story. Then  she      shook her      head.

“‘Tis          an       evil      wind   that    blows through         Sherwood,” she      said.   “The poor   are despoiled          and     the      rich     ride     over   their   bodies.          My      three  sons have   been outlawed       for      shooting        King’s deer   to        keep   us        from   starving, and     now    hide    in the wood.            And    they    tell      me      that    twoscore      of        as good  men    as        ever    drew  bow are        in         hiding            with    them.”

“Where   are      they,  good  mother?”      cried   Rob.   “By     my      faith,  I           will      join them.”

“Nay,       nay,”  replied           the      old      woman          at        first.   But      when she      saw that    there was     no       other  way,   she      said:   “My    sons    will      visit     me      to-night. Stay    you     here   and see         them  if          you     must.”

So Rob     stayed            willingly         to        see      the      widow’s        sons    that    night, for they    were men     after   his       own    heart. And    when they    found that    his       mood was with    them, they   made him     swear an       oath   of        fealty,            and     told     him     the haunt of        the      band—a place        he       knew  right   well.   Finally            one     of them  said:

“But         the      band  lacks   a          leader—one             who    can     use      his       head   as well    as        his hand.      So       we      have   agreed           that    he       who    has      skill enough          to        go       to        Nottingham,            an outlaw,    and     win     the      prize   at archery,        shall    be       our     chief.”

Rob          sprang           to        his       feet.   “Said  in         good  time!”            cried   he,      “for I           had     started           to that           self-same      Fair,    and     all        the      Foresters,     and all        the      Sheriff’s        men    in Christendom       shall    not      stand  between       me      and the      center            of        their   target!”

And          though          he       was     but      barely            grown            he       stood so straight          and     his       eye flashed  with    such   fire      that    the      three  brothers seized            his       hand  and     shouted:

“A Lockesley!    a          Lockesley!    if          you     win     the      golden           arrow you     shall be       chief of         outlaws         in         Sherwood    Forest!”

So Rob     fell      to        planning        how    he       could  disguise         himself          to        go to        Nottingham town;            for      he       knew  that    the      Foresters      had     even then   set       a          price   on       his       head   in the market-place.

It   was     even   as        Rob     had     surmised.      The     Sheriff           of        Nottingham posted           a reward       of        two     hundred        pounds          for      the      capture, dead   or        alive,  of        one     Robert Fitzooth,     outlaw.          And    the      crowds thronging     the      streets           upon  that    busy   Fair     day often      paused          to        read the      notice            and     talk     together        about the      death of        the      Head Forester.

But           what  with    wrestling       bouts and     bouts with    quarter-staves,       and wandering    minstrels,      there  came  up       so        many other  things to        talk     about, that    the reward  was     forgotten      for      the      nonce,           and     only    the      Foresters and     Sheriff’s        men watched          the      gates  with    diligence,      the      Sheriff indeed           spurring        them  to        effort by offers       of        largess.          His      hatred of        the      father            had     descended    to        the      son.

The           great  event of        the      day     came  in         the      afternoon.    It         was     the archer’s contest     for      the      golden           arrow,           and     twenty           men    stepped forth  to        shoot.            Among them           was     a          beggar-man,            a          sorry looking          fellow            with    leggings         of        different colors,     and     brown scratched      face    and     hands.           Over   a          tawny            shock of        hair     he had a          hood  drawn,          much like      that    of        a          monk.            Slowly            he limped           to        his       place  in the line,    while  the      mob   shouted         in         derision. But      the      contest          was     open  to        all comers,   so        no       man    said     him     nay.

Side          by       side     with    Rob—for       it          was     he—stood    a          muscular fellow            of        swarthy visage        and     with    one     eye     hid      by       a          green bandage.      Him    also     the      crowd            jeered, but   he       passed           them  by       with indifference while  he       tried   his       bow    with    practiced hand.

A   great  crowd            had     assembled    in         the      amphitheater          enclosing      the lists.    All the            gentry            and     populace       of        the      surrounding country were  gathered       there  in eager         expectancy. The     central           box     contained     the lean    but      pompous      Sheriff,          his bejeweled          wife,   and     their   daughter,     a supercilious  young            woman          enough,        who, it           was     openly           hinted, was     hoping           to        receive          the      golden           arrow from   the      victor and     thus be       crowned       queen            of        the      day.

Next         to        the      Sheriff’s        box     was     one     occupied       by       the      fat Bishop           of        Hereford; while      in         the      other  side     was     a          box     wherein sat       a          girl      whose            dark   hair,   dark   eyes, and      fair      features        caused Rob’s  heart  to        leap.   ‘Twas Maid  Marian!         She     had come     up       for      a          visit from   the      Queen’s        court  at        London          town, and     now    sat demurely           by her      father            the      Earl     of        Huntingdon.            If         Rob     had     been   grimly resolved        to        win     the      arrow before,          the      sight   of        her      sweet face multiplied     his determination  an       hundredfold.           He       felt      his       muscles tightening     into     bands of steel,         tense  and     true.   Yet      withal            his       heart would            throb,            making          him     quake in         a most           unaccountable way.

Then        the      trumpet        sounded,      and     the      crowd            became         silent while  the      herald announced the      terms of        the      contest.         The     lists     were open  to        all        comers.         The     first target    was     to        be       placed            at thirty  ells      distance,       and     all        those  who    hit       its        center were allowed         to shoot at        the      second           target,           placed            ten      ells      farther           off.     The third target  was     to        be       removed       yet      farther,         until    the      winner           was proved.         The     winner was  to        receive          the      golden           arrow,           and     a place  with    the      King’s Foresters.     He       it was also     who    crowned       the      queen of        the      day.

The           trumpet        sounded        again, and     the      archers          prepared      to shoot.            Rob     looked to      his       string,            while  the      crowd            smiled            and whispered    at        the      odd     figure he       cut, with       his       vari-colored legs     and     little cape.  But      as        the      first     man    shot,   they    grew silent.

The           target was     not      so        far       but      that    twelve           out      of        the twenty           contestants reached         its        inner  circle. Rob     shot    sixth   in         the      line and     landed           fairly, being rewarded     by       an       approving     grunt  from   the      man with    the      green blinder,         who shot      seventh,        and     with    apparent carelessness,            yet      true    to        the      bull’s-eye.

The           mob   cheered         and     yelled themselves   hoarse           at        this     even marksmanship. The          trumpet        sounded        again, and     a          new    target was     set up       at        forty   ells.

The           first     three  archers          again  struck true,   amid   the      loud    applause       of the onlookers;        for      they    were  general          favorites       and     expected       to        win. Indeed           ‘twas whispered     that    each   was     backed          by       one     of        the three  dignitaries    of        the      day.    The fourth   and     fifth    archers          barely grazed           the      center.           Rob     fitted  his       arrow quietly and  with    some confidence   sped   it          unerringly    toward          the      shining           circle.

“The         beggar!         the      beggar!”       yelled the      crowd;           “another       bull     for the      beggar!” In  truth  his       shaft   was     nearer           the      center            than   any     of the      others.           But      it          was     not      so near          that    “Blinder,”     as        the      mob had     promptly      christened    his       neighbor,      did      not place      his       shaft   just within            the      mark. Again the      crowd            cheered         wildly.            Such shooting as        this     was     not      seen   every day     in         Nottingham town.

The           other  archers          in         this     round were  disconcerted            by       the preceding     shots, or       unable           to        keep   the      pace.  They   missed           one after   another         and     dropped moodily   back,  while  the      trumpet        sounded        for the      third   round,           and     the      target was    set       up       fifty    ells      distant.

“By           my      halidom         you     draw  a          good  bow,  young            master,”        said Rob’s  queer comrade      to        him     in         the      interval          allowed         for      rest.    “Do you     wish   me      to        shoot first on          this     trial?”

“Nay,”     said     Rob,   “but    you     are      a          good  fellow            by       this     token, and     if          I           win     not, I  hope  you     may    keep   the      prize   from   yon     strutters.” And    he       nodded         scornfully to            the      three  other  archers          who    were surrounded  by       their   admirers,      and     were being   made much of        by       retainers of        the      Sheriff,          the      Bishop,          and     the      Earl.    From them   his       eye wandered     toward          Maid  Marian’s       booth.           She     had     been   watching him, it          seemed,        for      their   eyes    met;   then   hers    were  hastily            averted.

“Blinder’s”         quick  eye     followed       those  of        Rob.   “A       fair      maid, that,” he said smilingly,         “and   one     more  worthy          the      golden           arrow than   the Sheriff’s        haughty miss.”

Rob looked           at        him     swiftly,          and     saw     naught           but      kindliness      in        his       glance.

“You        are      a          shrewd          fellow            and     I           like      you     well,” was     his     only    comment.

Now         the      archers          prepared      to        shoot again, each   with    some  little care.   The target    seemed         hardly            larger than   the      inner  ring     had     looked, at        the      first     trial.

The     first     three  sped   their   shafts,            and     while  they    were  fair      shots  they    did not more      than   graze  the      inner  circle.

Rob          took   his       stand  with    some  misgiving.     Some flecking         clouds overhead made      the      light    uncertain,     and     a          handful         of        wind   frolicked across            the      range in         a way quite  disturbing     to        a          bowman’s    nerves. His      eyes    wandered     for      a          brief moment          to        the      box     wherein        sat the      dark-eyed     girl.     His      heart  leaped!          she      met his          glance            and smiled            at        him     reassuringly.            And    in         that    moment        he       felt      that she knew      him     despite          his       disguise         and     looked           to        him     to keep   the      honor of        old Sherwood.        He       drew  his       bow    firmly and,    taking advantage    of        a          momentary  lull in  the      breeze,          launched       the      arrow straight          and     true-singing across            the      range to the center            of        the target.

“The         beggar!         the      beggar!         a          bull!    a          bull!”  yelled the      fickle mob,  who    from jeering            him     were  now    his       warm friends.          “Can   you     beat that,   Blinder?”

The           last      archer            smiled            scornfully     and     made ready.            He drew  his       bow    with ease      and     grace  and,    without         seeming        to        study  the course,          released        the      winged arrow.        Forward        it          leaped           toward the      target,           and     all        eyes    followed       its        flight. A loud            uproar broke forth  when it          alighted,        just     without         the      center            and     grazing the      shaft   sent    by       Rob.   The     stranger        made a          gesture          of        surprise when his       own eyes      announced   the      result to        him,    but      saw     his       error. He had     not      allowed         for      the fickle      gust    of        wind   which seized            the arrow and     carried           it          to        one     side.   But      for all that    he       was     the      first to        congratulate            the      victor.

“I   hope  we      may    shoot again,”           quoth he.      “In      truth  I           care    not      for the      golden bauble         and     wished           to        win     it          in         despite          of        the Sheriff           for      whom            I           have   no       love. Now     crown            the      lady    of your   choice.”         And    turning          suddenly       he       was     lost     in         the crowd, before           Rob     could  utter   what  it          was     upon  his       lips      to        say,     that    he would shoot            again  with    him.

And          now    the      herald            summoned   Rob     to        the      Sheriff’s        box     to receive          the prize.

“You         are      a          curious          fellow            enough,”      said     the      Sheriff, biting his       lip        coldly; “yet  you     shoot well.   What  name go       you     by?”

Marian    sat       near   and     was     listening        intently.

“I  am      called Rob     the      Stroller,         my      Lord   Sheriff,”        said     the      archer.

Marian    leaned           back   and     smiled.

“Well,      Rob     the      Stroller,         with    a          little    attention       to        your   skin     and clothes           you would    not      be       so        bad     a          man,” said     the      Sheriff. “How like      you     the      idea    of entering   my      service.

“Rob        the      Stroller          has      ever    been   a          free    man,  my      Lord,  and desires           no service.”

The           Sheriff’s        brow  darkened,     yet      for      the      sake    of        his       daughter and     the golden   arrow,           he       dissembled.

“Rob        the      Stroller,”       said     he,      “here is         the      golden           arrow which has been offered           to        the      best    of        archers          this     day.    You     are      awarded the      prize. See     that    you bestow  it          worthily.”

At  this     point  the      herald            nudged          Rob     and     half     inclined         his head   toward          the Sheriff’s daughter,     who    sat       with    a          thin     smile  upon  her lips.     But      Rob     heeded him not.    He       took   the      arrow and     strode            to        the next    box     where            sat       Maid  Marian.

“Lady,”    he       said,   “pray accept            this     little    pledge           from   a          poor stroller           who would  devote           the      best    shafts in         his       quiver            to serve  you.”

“My          thanks           to        you,    Rob     in         the      Hood,”          replied           she      with a          roguish          twinkle          in her eye;    and     she      placed            the      gleaming arrow in         her      hair,   while  the      people shouted,     “The   Queen!          the      Queen!”

The           Sheriff           glowered      furiously       upon  this     ragged           archer            who had     refused his   service,          taken his       prize   without         a          word  of        thanks, and     snubbed        his daughter.           He       would            have   spoken,         but      his proud daughter       restrained     him.    He called       to        his       guard and     bade   them watch the      beggar.          But      Rob     had     already turned       swiftly,          lost     himself in         the      throng,          and     headed          straight          for      the      town gate.

That         same  evening         within            a          forest glade  a          group of        men—some  twoscore clad         in         Lincoln           green—sat   round a          fire      roasting venison         and     making          merry. Suddenly    a          twig    crackled        and     they sprang           to        their   feet     and     seized            their weapons.

“I  look    for      the      widow’s        sons,”            a          clear   voice  said,   “and   I     come  alone.” Instantly    the      three  men    stepped         forward.

“Tis           Rob!” they    cried; “welcome     to        Sherwood    Forest,           Rob!” And    all the men        came  and     greeted         him;    for      they    had     heard his       story.

Then        one     of        the      widow’s        sons,  Stout  Will,    stepped         forth  and     said:

“Comrades         all,       ye        know that    our     band  has      sadly  lacked            a leader—one             of birth,        breeding,      and     skill.    Belike we      have   found that leader            in         this     young            man. And     I           and     my      brothers        have   told him     that    the      band  would            choose           that    one     who should  bring  the Sheriff           to        shame            this     day     and     capture         his       golden           arrow. Is         it not  so?”

The          band  gave   assent.

Will           turned           to        Rob.   “What            news  bring  you     from   Nottingham town?”          asked he.

Rob          laughed.        “In      truth  I           brought         the      Sheriff           to        shame for      mine   own pleasure,         and     won    his       golden           arrow to        boot.  But      as to        the      prize   ye        must   e’en take      my      word, for      I           bestowed     it upon  a          maid.”

And          seeing            the      men    stood in         doubt at        this,    he       continued:    “But I’ll        gladly join    your   band, and     you     take    me,     as        a          common       archer. For      there  are      others older            and     mayhap         more  skilled            than   I.”

Then        stepped         one     forward        from   the      rest,    a          tall      swarthy man.  And    Rob recognized      him     as        the      man    with    the      green blinder;         only this     was     now    removed, and         his       freed  eye     gleamed        as        stoutly           as the      other  one.

“Rob        in         the      Hood—for    such   the      lady    called you,”  said     he,      “I         can vouch for your        tale.    You     shamed         the      Sheriff           e’en    as        I           had hoped            to        do;      and     we      can forego   the      golden           arrow since   it          is in         such   fair      hands.           As        to        your   shooting        and mine,     we      must   let future            days   decide.          But      here   I,          Will     Stutely,          declare          that    I will serve  none  other  chief   save    only    you.”

Then        good  Will     Stutely           told     the      outlaws         of        Rob’s  deeds,            and gave   him     his hand        of        fealty.            And    the      widow’s        sons    did      likewise, and     the      other  members every      one,    right   gladly;            because         Will     Stutely had     heretofore   been   the      truest bow   in         all        the      company.     And    they toasted          him     in         nut      brown           ale,     and     hailed him    as        their   leader, by       the      name of        Robin Hood. And    he       accepted       that    name because Maid  Marian          had     said     it.

By the      light    of        the      camp-fire      the      band  exchanged    signs   and passwords. They    gave   Robin Hood  a          horn   upon  which he       was     to        blow   to summon       them. They  swore,           also,   that    while  they    might take    money           and goods from   the      unjust rich,  they    would            aid      and     befriend        the      poor   and the      helpless;        and     that    they would  harm  no       woman,        be       she      maid, wife,   or        widow.          They   swore all        this     with solemn             oaths,            while  they feasted          about the      ruddy blaze, under the      greenwood tree.

And          that    is         how    Robin Hood  became         an       outlaw.