Robin Hood by J. Walker McSpadden (big screen ebook reader TXT) 📖

“Nay, God forbid!” said Robin; “but what want you with him?”

“That is another tale. But I’d rather meet with that proud outlaw than forty good pounds of the King’s money.”

Robin now saw how the land lay.

“Come with me, good yeoman,” said he, “and belike, a little later in the day, I can show you Robin’s haunts when he is at home. Meanwhile let us have some pastime under the greenwood tree. Let us first try the mastery at shooting arrows.”

The other agreed, and they cut down two willow wands of a summer’s growth that grew beneath a brier, and set them up at a distance of threescore yards.

“Lead on, good fellow,” quoth Robin. “The first shot to you.”

“Nay, by my faith,” said the other, “I will follow your lead.”

So Robin stepped forth and bent his bow carelessly and sent his shaft whizzing toward the wand, missing it by a scant inch. He of the horse-hide followed with more care yet was a good three-fingers’ breadth away. On the second round, the stranger led off and landed cleverly within the small garland at the top of the wand; but Robin shot far better and clave the wand itself, clean at the middle.

“A blessing on your heart!” shouted Capul-Hide; “never saw I such shooting as that! Belike you are better than Robin Hood himself. But you have not yet told me your name.”

“Nay, by my faith,” quoth Robin, “I must keep it secret till you have told me your own.”

“I do not disdain to tell it,” said the other. “I dwell by dale and down, and to take bold Robin am I sworn. This would I tell him to his face, were he not so great a craven. When I am called by my right name, I am Guy of Gisborne.”

This he said with a great show of pride, and he strutted back and forth, forgetful that he had just been beaten at archery.

Robin eyed him quietly. “Methinks I have heard of you elsewhere. Do you not bring men to the gallows for a living?”

“Aye, but only outlaws such as Robin Hood.”

“But pray what harm has Robin Hood done you?”

“He is a highway robber,” said Sir Guy, evading the question.

“Has he ever taken from the rich that he did not give again to the poor? Does he not protect the women and children and side with weak and helpless? Is not his greatest crime the shooting of a few King’s deer?”

“Have done with your sophistry,” said Sir Guy impatiently. “I am more than ever of opinion that you are one of Robin’s men yourself.”

“I have told you I am not,” quoth Robin briefly. “But if I am to help you catch him, what is your plan?”

“Do you see this silver bugle?” said the other. “A long blast upon it will summon the Sheriff and all his men, when once I have Robin within my grasp. And if you show him to me, I’ll give you the half of my forty pounds reward.”

“I would not help hang a man for ten times forty pounds,” said the outlaw. “Yet will I point out Robin to you for the reward I find at my sword’s point. I myself am Robin Hood of Sherwood and Barnesdale.”

“Then have at you!” cried the other springing swiftly into action. His sword leaped forth from beneath the horse’s hide with the speed born of long practice, and before Robin had come to guard, the other had smitten at him full and foul. Robin eluded the lunge and drew his own weapon.

“A scurvy trick!” quoth he grimly, “to strike at a man unprepared.”

Then neither spoke more, but fell sternly to work—lunge and thrust and ward and parry—for two full hours the weapons smote together sullenly, and neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy would yield an inch. I promise you that if you could have looked forth on the fight from behind the trunk of some friendly tree, you would have seen deadly sport such as few men beheld in Sherwood Forest. For the fighters glared sullenly at each other, the fires of hatred burning in their eyes. One was fighting for his life; the other for a reward and the King’s favor.

Still circled the bright blades swiftly in the air—now gleaming in the peaceful sunlight—again hissing like maddened serpents. Neither had yet touched the other, until Robin, in an unlucky moment, stumbled over the projecting root of a tree; when Sir Guy, instead of giving him the chance to recover himself, as any courteous knight would have done, struck quickly at the falling man and wounded him in the left side.

“Ah, dear Lady in Heaven,” gasped Robin uttering his favorite prayer, “shield me now! ‘Twas never a man’s destiny to die before his day.”

And adroitly he sprang up again, and came straight at the other with an awkward but unexpected stroke. The knight had raised his weapon high to give a final blow, when Robin reached beneath and across his guard. One swift lunge, and Sir Guy of Gisborne staggered backward with a deep groan, Robin’s sword through his throat.

Robin looked at the slain man regretfully.

“You did bring it upon yourself,” said he; “and traitor and hireling though you were, I would not willingly have killed you.”

He looked to his own wound. It was not serious, and he soon staunched the blood and bound up the cut. Then he dragged the dead body into the bushes, and took off the horse’s hide and put it upon himself. He placed his own cloak upon Sir Guy, and marked his face so none might tell who had been slain. Robin’s own figure and face were not unlike the other’s.

Pulling the capul-hide well over himself, so that the helmet hid most of his face, Robin seized the silver bugle and blew a long blast. It was the blast that saved the life of Little John, over in Barnesdale, for you and I have already seen how it caused the fond Sheriff to prick up his ears and stay the hanging, and go scurrying up over the hill and into the wood with his men in search of another victim.

In five-and-twenty minutes up came running a score of the Sheriff’s best archers.

“Did you signal us, lording?” they asked, approaching Robin.

“Aye,” said he, going to meet the puffing Sheriff.

“What news, what news, Sir Guy?” said that officer.

“Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne had a fight; and he that wears Robin’s cloak lies under the covert yonder.”

“The best news I have heard in all my life!” exclaimed the Sheriff rubbing his hands. “I would that we could have saved him for the hanging—though I cannot now complain.”

“The hanging?” repeated Robin.

“Yes. This is