se up quickly, drew his bow and let fly
one of his fatal shafts. It would have been better for William-a-Trent
to have been abed with sorrow--says the ballad--than to be that day in
the greenwood slade to meet with Little John's arrow. He had run his
last race.

The others halted a moment in consternation, when the shaft came
hurtling down from the hill; but looking up they beheld none save Little
John, and with a cry of fierce joy they turned upon him. Meanwhile Will
Scarlet had reached the brow of the hill and sped down the other side.

"I'll just send one more little message of regret to the Sheriff," said
Little John, "before I join Will."

But this foolhardy deed was his undoing, for just as the arrow left the
string, the good yew bow that had never before failed him snapped in
twain.

"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood, that ere thou grew on a
tree!" cursed Little John, and planted his feet resolutely in the earth
resolved to sell the path dearly; for the soldiers were now so close
upon him that he dared not turn.

And a right good account of himself he gave that day, dealing with
each man as he came up according to his merit. And so winded were the
pursuers when they reached the top of the hill that he laid out the
first ten of them right and left with huge blows of his brawny fist.

But if five men can do more than three, a score can overcome one.

A body of archers stood off at a prudent distance and covered Little
John with their arrows.

"Now yield you!" panted the Sheriff. "Yield you, Little John, or Reynold
Greenleaf, or whatever else name you carry this day! Yield you, or some
few of these shafts will reach your heart!"

"Marry, my heart has been touched by your words ere now," said Little
John; "and I yield me."

So the Sheriff's men laid hold of Little John and bound him fast with
many cords, so fearful were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff
laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he should avenge his stolen
plate, and determined to make a good day's work of it.

"By the Saints!" he said, "you shall be drawn by dale and down, and
hanged high on a hill in Barnesdale this very day."

"Hang and be hanged!" retorted the prisoner. "You may fail of your
purpose if it be Heaven's will."

Back down the hill and across the moor went the company speedily, for
they feared a rescue. And as they went the stragglers joined them. Here
a man got up feebly out of the ditch and rubbed his