ad been laid upon the cobble-stones. The dispute raged
round their respective knowledge and skill with the bow, and now some
quick wit amongst the soldiers had suggested a grim fashion in which
it should be put to the proof, once for all, which could draw the surer
shaft.

A thick wood lay two hundred paces from the road upon which the archers
stood. A stretch of smooth grassy sward lay between. The two peasants
were led out fifty yards from the road, with their faces toward the
wood. There they stood, held on a leash, and casting many a wondering
frightened glance over their shoulders at the preparations which were
being made behind them.

Old Bartholomew and the big Yorkshireman had stepped out of the ranks
and stood side by side each with his strung bow in his left hand and a
single arrow in his right. With care they had drawn on and greased their
shooting-gloves and fastened their bracers. They plucked and cast up a
few blades of grass to measure the wind, examined every small point of
their tackle, turned their sides to the mark, and Widened their feet
in a firmer stance. From all sides came chaff and counsel from their
comrades.

"A three-quarter wind, bowyer!" cried one. "Aim a body's breadth to the
right!"

"But not thy body's breadth, bowyer," laughed another. "Else may you be
overwide."

"Nay, this wind will scarce turn a well-drawn shaft," said a third.
"Shoot dead upon him and you will be clap in the clout."

"Steady, Ned, for the good name of the Dales," cried a Yorkshireman.
"Loose easy and pluck not, or I am five crowns the poorer man."

"A week's pay on Bartholomew!" shouted another. "Now, old fat-pate, fail
me not!"

"Enough, enough! Stint your talk!" cried the old bowman, Wat of
Carlisle. "Were your shafts as quick as your tongues there would be no
facing you. Do you shoot upon the little one, Bartholomew, and you, Ned,
upon the other. Give them law until I cry the word, then loose in your
own fashion and at your own time. Are you ready! Hola, there, Hayward,
Beddington, let them run!"

The leashes were torn away, and the two men, stooping their heads, ran
madly for the shelter of the wood amid such a howl from the archers as
beaters may give when the hare starts from its form. The two bowmen,
each with his arrow drawn to the pile, stood like russet statues,
menacing, motionless, their eager eyes fixed upon the fugitives, their
bow-staves rising slowly as the distance between them lengthene