Once more the Sheriff of Nottingham sat within the King’s Head Inn.  His heart rejoiced within him, for he had at last done that which he had sought to do for years, taken Little John prisoner.  Quoth he to himself, “This time tomorrow the rogue shall hang upon the gallows tree in front of the great gate of Nottingham Town, and thus shall I make my long score with him even.”  So saying, he took a deep draught of Canary.  But it seemed as if the Sheriff had swallowed a thought with his wine, for he shook his head and put the cup down hastily.  “Now,” he muttered to himself, “I would not for a thousand pounds have this fellow slip through my fingers; yet, should his master escape that foul Guy of Gisbourne, there is no knowing what he may do, for he is the cunningest knave in all the world—­this same Robin Hood.  Belike I had better not wait until tomorrow to hang the fellow.”  So saying, he pushed his chair back hastily, and going forth from the inn called his men together.  Quoth he, “I will wait no longer for the hanging of this rogue, but it shall be done forthwith, and that from the very tree whence he saved those three young villains by stepping betwixt them and the law.  So get ye ready straightway.”

Then once more they sat Little John upon the horse, with his face to the tail, and so, one leading the horse whereon he sat and the others riding around him, they went forward to that tree from the branches of which they had thought to hang the poachers.  On they went, rattling and jingling along the road till they came to the tree.  Here one of the men spake to the Sheriff of a sudden.  “Your Worship,” cried he, “is not yon fellow coming along toward us that same Guy of Gisbourne whom thou didst send into the forest to seek Robin Hood?” At these words the Sheriff shaded his eyes and looked eagerly.  “Why, certes,” quoth he, “yon fellow is the same.  Now, Heaven send that he hath slain the master thief, as we will presently slay the man!”

When Little John heard this speech he looked up, and straightway his heart crumbled away within him, for not only were the man’s garments all covered with blood, but he wore Robin Hood’s bugle horn and carried his bow and broadsword.

“How now!” cried the Sheriff, when Robin Hood, in Guy of Gisbourne’s clothes, had come nigh to them.  “What luck hath befallen thee in the forest?  Why, man, thy clothes are all over blood!”

“An thou likest not my clothes,” said Robin in a harsh voice like that of Guy of Gisbourne, “thou mayst shut thine eyes.  Marry, the blood upon me is that of the vilest outlaw that ever trod the woodlands, and one whom I have slain this day, albeit not without wound to myself.”

Then out spake Little John, for the first time since he had fallen into the Sheriff’s hands.  “O thou vile, bloody wretch!  I know thee, Guy of Gisbourne, for who is there that hath not heard of thee and cursed thee for thy vile deeds of blood and rapine?  Is it by such a hand as thine that the gentlest heart that ever beat is stilled in death?  Truly, thou art a fit tool for this coward Sheriff of Nottingham.  Now I die joyfully, nor do I care how I die, for life is nought to me!” So spake Little John, the salt tears rolling down his brown cheeks.