Then Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted with his green years.

“Now,” quoth he, “my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine; and moreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town, which same has been proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; there I will shoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been offered of a fine butt of ale.”

Then one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, “Ho! listen to the lad!  Why, boy, thy mother’s milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and yet thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts, thou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow.”

“I’ll hold the best of you twenty marks,” quoth bold Robin, “that I hit the clout at threescore rods, by the good help of Our Lady fair.”

At this all laughed aloud, and one said, “Well boasted, thou fair infant, well boasted!  And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to make good thy wager.”

And another cried, “He will be taking ale with his milk next.”

At this Robin grew right mad.  “Hark ye,” said he, “yonder, at the glade’s end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods distant.  I’ll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause the best hart among them to die.”

“Now done!” cried he who had spoken first.  “And here are twenty marks.  I wager that thou causest no beast to die, with or without the aid of Our Lady.”

Then Robin took his good yew bow in his hand, and placing the tip at his instep, he strung it right deftly; then he nocked a broad clothyard arrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather to his ear; the next moment the bowstring rang and the arrow sped down the glade as a sparrowhawk skims in a northern wind.  High leaped the noblest hart of all the herd, only to fall dead, reddening the green path with his heart’s blood.

“Ha!” cried Robin, “how likest thou that shot, good fellow?  I wot the wager were mine, an it were three hundred pounds.”

Then all the foresters were filled with rage, and he who had spoken the first and had lost the wager was more angry than all.

“Nay,” cried he, “the wager is none of thine, and get thee gone, straightway, or, by all the saints of heaven, I’ll baste thy sides until thou wilt ne’er be able to walk again.”  “Knowest thou not,” said another, “that thou hast killed the King’s deer, and, by the laws of our gracious lord and sovereign King Harry, thine ears should be shaven close to thy head?”

“Catch him!” cried a third.

“Nay,” said a fourth, “let him e’en go because of his tender years.”

Never a word said Robin Hood, but he looked at the foresters with a grim face; then, turning on his heel, strode away from them down the forest glade.  But his heart was bitterly angry, for his blood was hot and youthful and prone to boil.

Now, well would it have been for him who had first spoken had he left Robin Hood alone; but his anger was hot, both because the youth had gotten the better of him and because of the deep draughts of ale that he had been quaffing.  So, of a sudden, without any warning, he sprang to his feet, and seized upon his bow and fitted it to a shaft.  “Ay,” cried he, “and I’ll hurry thee anon.”  And he sent the arrow whistling after Robin.