don"--here he
loosed his shaft--"thou canst find nought to shoot at but rooks and
daws; there one can tickle the ribs of the noblest stags in England."
So he shot even while he talked, yet the shaft lodged not more than half
an inch from the very center.

"By my soul!" cried Gilbert. "Art thou the devil in blue, to shoot in
that wise?"

"Nay," quoth Robin, laughing, "not quite so ill as that, I trust." And
he took up another shaft and fitted it to the string. Again he shot, and
again he smote his arrow close beside the center; a third time he loosed
his bowstring and dropped his arrow just betwixt the other two and into
the very center, so that the feathers of all three were ruffled
together, seeming from a distance to be one thick shaft.

And now a low murmur ran all among that great crowd, for never before
had London seen such shooting as this; and never again would it see it
after Robin Hood's day had gone. All saw that the King's archers were
fairly beaten, and stout Gilbert clapped his palm to Robin's, owning
that he could never hope to draw such a bowstring as Robin Hood or
Little John. But the King, full of wrath, would not have it so, though
he knew in his mind that his men could not stand against those fellows.
"Nay!" cried he, clenching his hands upon the arms of his seat, "Gilbert
is not yet beaten! Did he not strike the clout thrice? Although I have
lost my wager, he hath not yet lost the first prize. They shall shoot
again, and still again, till either he or that knave Robin Hood cometh
off the best. Go thou, Sir Hugh, and bid them shoot another round, and
another, until one or the other is overcome." Then Sir Hugh, seeing how
wroth the King was, said never a word, but went straightway to do his
bidding; so he came to where Robin Hood and the other stood, and told
them what the King had said.

"With all my heart," quoth merry Robin, "I will shoot from this time
till tomorrow day if it can pleasure my most gracious lord and King.
Take thy place, Gilbert lad, and shoot."

So Gilbert took his place once more, but this time he failed, for, a
sudden little wind arising, his shaft missed the center ring, but by not
more than the breadth of a barley straw.

"Thy eggs are cracked, Gilbert," quoth Robin, laughing; and straightway
he loosed a shaft, and once more smote the white circle of the center.

Then the King arose from his place, and not a word said he, but he
looked around with a baleful look, and