his hand and
shouted:

"A Lockesley! a Lockesley! if you win the golden arrow you shall be
chief of outlaws in Sherwood Forest!"

So Rob fell to planning how he could disguise himself to go to
Nottingham town; for he knew that the Foresters had even then set a
price on his head in the market-place.

It was even as Rob had surmised. The Sheriff of Nottingham posted a
reward of two hundred pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of one
Robert Fitzooth, outlaw. And the crowds thronging the streets upon that
busy Fair day often paused to read the notice and talk together about
the death of the Head Forester.

But what with wrestling bouts and bouts with quarter-staves, and
wandering minstrels, there came up so many other things to talk about,
that the reward was forgotten for the nonce, and only the Foresters
and Sheriff's men watched the gates with diligence, the Sheriff indeed
spurring them to effort by offers of largess. His hatred of the father
had descended to the son.

The great event of the day came in the afternoon. It was the archer's
contest for the golden arrow, and twenty men stepped forth to shoot.
Among them was a beggar-man, a sorry looking fellow with leggings of
different colors, and brown scratched face and hands. Over a tawny shock
of hair he had a hood drawn, much like that of a monk. Slowly he limped
to his place in the line, while the mob shouted in derision. But the
contest was open to all comers, so no man said him nay.

Side by side with Rob--for it was he--stood a muscular fellow of swarthy
visage and with one eye hid by a green bandage. Him also the crowd
jeered, but he passed them by with indifference while he tried his bow
with practiced hand.

A great crowd had assembled in the amphitheater enclosing the lists. All
the gentry and populace of the surrounding country were gathered there
in eager expectancy. The central box contained the lean but pompous
Sheriff, his bejeweled wife, and their daughter, a supercilious young
woman enough, who, it was openly hinted, was hoping to receive the
golden arrow from the victor and thus be crowned queen of the day.

Next to the Sheriff's box was one occupied by the fat Bishop of
Hereford; while in the other side was a box wherein sat a girl whose
dark hair, dark eyes, and fair features caused Rob's heart to leap.
'Twas Maid Marian! She had come up for a visit from the Queen's court at
London town, and now sat demurely by her father the Earl of Hunt