see where they have
stooped to gather up the shaft."

"We shall hear anon," said Johnston quietly, and presently a young
archer came running to say that the arrow had fallen twenty paces beyond
the fourth wand.

"Four hundred paces and a score," cried Black Simon. "I' faith, it is a
very long flight. Yet wood and steel may do more than flesh and blood."

The Brabanter stepped forward with a smile of conscious triumph, and
loosed the cord of his weapon. A shout burst from his comrades as they
watched the swift and lofty flight of the heavy bolt.

"Over the fourth!" groaned Aylward. "By my hilt! I think that it is well
up to the fifth."

"It is over the fifth!" cried a Gascon loudly, and a comrade came
running with waving arms to say that the bolt had pitched eight paces
beyond the mark of the five hundred.

"Which weapon hath the vantage now?" cried the Brabanter, Strutting
proudly about with shouldered arbalest, amid the applause of his
companions.

"You can overshoot me," said Johnston gently.

"Or any other man who ever bent a long-bow," cried his victorious
adversary.

"Nay, not so fast," said a huge archer, whose mighty shoulders and red
head towered high above the throng of his comrades. "I must have a word
with you ere you crow so loudly. Where is my little popper? By sainted
Dick of Hampole! it will be a strange thing if I cannot outshoot that
thing of thine, which to my eyes is more like a rat-trap than a bow.
Will you try another flight, or do you stand by your last?"

"Five hundred and eight paces will serve my turn," answered the
Brabanter, looking askance at this new opponent.

"Tut, John," whispered Aylward, "you never were a marksman. Why must you
thrust your spoon into this dish?"

"Easy and slow, Aylward. There are very many things which I cannot do,
but there are also one or two which I have the trick of. It is in my
mind that I can beat this shoot, if my bow will but hold together."

"Go on, old babe of the woods!" "Have at it, Hampshire!" cried the
archers laughing.

"By my soul! you may grin," cried John. "But I learned how to make the
long shoot from old Hob Miller of Milford." He took up a great black
bow, as he spoke, and sitting down upon the ground he placed his two
feet on either end of the stave. With an arrow fitted, he then pulled
the string towards him with both hands until the head of the shaft was
level with the wood. The great bow creaked and groaned and the cord
vibra