At these words Guy of Gisbourne looked upon Robin with knit brows, but, as the yeoman still looked innocent of any ill meaning, he bottled his words and strung his bow in silence.  Twice he shot, but neither time did he hit the wand, missing it the first time by a span and the second time by a good palm’s-breadth.  Robin laughed and laughed.  “I see now,” quoth he, “that the Devil himself could not hit that mark.  Good fellow, if thou art no better with the broadsword than thou art with the bow and arrow, thou wilt never overcome Robin Hood.”

At these words Guy of Gisbourne glared savagely upon Robin.  Quoth he, “Thou hast a merry tongue, thou villain; but take care that thou makest not too free with it, or I may cut it out from thy throat for thee.”

Robin Hood strung his bow and took his place with never a word, albeit his heartstrings quivered with anger and loathing.  Twice he shot, the first time hitting within an inch of the wand, the second time splitting it fairly in the middle.  Then, without giving the other a chance for speech, he flung his bow upon the ground.  “There, thou bloody villain!” cried he fiercely, “let that show thee how little thou knowest of manly sports.  And now look thy last upon the daylight, for the good earth hath been befouled long enough by thee, thou vile beast!  This day, Our Lady willing, thou diest—­I am Robin Hood.”  So saying, he flashed forth his bright sword in the sunlight.

For a time Guy of Gisbourne stared upon Robin as though bereft of wits; but his wonder quickly passed to a wild rage.  “Art thou indeed Robin Hood?” cried he.  “Now I am glad to meet thee, thou poor wretch!  Shrive thyself, for thou wilt have no time for shriving when I am done with thee.”  So saying, he also drew his sword.

And now came the fiercest fight that ever Sherwood saw; for each man knew that either he or the other must die, and that no mercy was to be had in this battle.  Up and down they fought, till all the sweet green grass was crushed and ground beneath the trampling of their heels.  More than once the point of Robin Hood’s sword felt the softness of flesh, and presently the ground began to be sprinkled with bright red drops, albeit not one of them came from Robin’s veins.  At last Guy of Gisbourne made a fierce and deadly thrust at Robin Hood, from which he leaped back lightly, but in so leaping he caught his heel in a root and fell heavily upon his back.  “Now, Holy Mary aid me!” muttered he, as the other leaped at him, with a grin of rage upon his face.  Fiercely Guy of Gisbourne stabbed at the other with his great sword, but Robin caught the blade in his naked hand, and, though it cut his palm, he turned the point away so that it plunged deep into the ground close beside him; then, ere a blow could be struck again, he leaped to his feet, with his good sword in his hand.  And now despair fell upon Guy of Gisbourne’s heart in a black cloud, and he looked around him wildly, like a wounded