Hubert took his place, planted his foot firmly, and fitted a fair, smooth arrow; then, breathing upon his fingertips, he drew the string slowly and carefully.  The arrow sped true, and lodged in the white; again he shot, and again he hit the clout; a third shaft he sped, but this time failed of the center, and but struck the black, yet not more than a finger’s-breadth from the white.  At this a shout went up, for it was the best shooting that Hubert had yet done that day.

Merry Robin laughed, and quoth he, “Thou wilt have an ill time bettering that round, Will, for it is thy turn next.  Brace thy thews, lad, and bring not shame upon Sherwood.”

Then Will Scarlet took his place; but, because of overcaution, he spoiled his target with the very first arrow that he sped, for he hit the next ring to the black, the second from the center.  At this Robin bit his lips.  “Lad, lad,” quoth he, “hold not the string so long!  Have I not often told thee what Gaffer Swanthold sayeth, that ’overcaution spilleth the milk’?” To this Will Scarlet took heed, so the next arrow he shot lodged fairly in the center ring; again he shot, and again he smote the center; but, for all that, stout Hubert had outshot him, and showed the better target.  Then all those that looked on clapped their hands for joy because that Hubert had overcome the stranger.

Quoth the King grimly, to the Queen, “If thy archers shoot no better than that, thou art like to lose thy wager, lady.”  But Queen Eleanor smiled, for she looked for better things from Robin Hood and Little John.

And now Tepus took his place to shoot.  He, also, took overheed to what he was about, and so he fell into Will Scarlet’s error.  The first arrow he struck into the center ring, but the second missed its mark, and smote the black; the last arrow was tipped with luck, for it smote the very center of the clout, upon the black spot that marked it.  Quoth Robin Hood, “That is the sweetest shot that hath been sped this day; but, nevertheless, friend Tepus, thy cake is burned, methinks.  Little John, it is thy turn next.”

So Little John took his place as bidden, and shot his three arrows quickly.  He never lowered his bow arm in all the shooting, but fitted each shaft with his longbow raised; yet all three of his arrows smote the center within easy distance of the black.  At this no sound of shouting was heard, for, although it was the best shooting that had been done that day, the folk of London Town did not like to see the stout Tepus overcome by a fellow from the countryside, even were he as famous as Little John.

And now stout Gilbert of the White Hand took his place and shot with the greatest care; and again, for the third time in one day, he struck all three shafts into the clout.

“Well done, Gilbert!” quoth Robin Hood, smiting him upon the shoulder.  “I make my vow, thou art one of the best archers that ever mine eyes beheld.  Thou shouldst be a free and merry ranger like us, lad, for thou art better fitted for the greenwood than for the cobblestones and gray walls of London Town.”  So saying, he took his place, and drew a fair, round arrow from his quiver, which he turned over and over ere he fitted it to his bowstring.