ring 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 in