“Nay,” quoth old Adam o’ the Dell presently, drawing a long breath and shaking his head as he spoke, “twoscore years and more have I shot shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for no man can match with yon stranger, whosoe’er he may be.”  Then he thrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without another word.

Then the Sheriff came down from his dais and drew near, in all his silks and velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his stout bow, while the good folk crowded around to see the man who shot so wondrously well.  “Here, good fellow,” quoth the Sheriff, “take thou the prize, and well and fairly hast thou won it, I bow.  What may be thy name, and whence comest thou?”

“Men do call me Jock o’ Teviotdale, and thence am I come,” said the stranger.

“Then, by Our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e’er mine eyes beheld, and if thou wilt join my service I will clothe thee with a better coat than that thou hast upon thy back; thou shalt eat and drink of the best, and at every Christmastide fourscore marks shall be thy wage.  I trow thou drawest better bow than that same coward knave Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day.  Say, good fellow, wilt thou join my service?”

“Nay, that will I not,” quoth the stranger roughly.  “I will be mine own, and no man in all merry England shall be my master.”

“Then get thee gone, and a murrain seize thee!” cried the Sheriff, and his voice trembled with anger.  “And by my faith and troth, I have a good part of a mind to have thee beaten for thine insolence!” Then he turned upon his heel and strode away.

It was a right motley company that gathered about the noble greenwood tree in Sherwood’s depths that same day.  A score and more of barefoot friars were there, and some that looked like tinkers, and some that seemed to be sturdy beggars and rustic hinds; and seated upon a mossy couch was one all clad in tattered scarlet, with a patch over one eye; and in his hand he held the golden arrow that was the prize of the great shooting match.  Then, amidst a noise of talking and laughter, he took the patch from off his eye and stripped away the scarlet rags from off his body and showed himself all clothed in fair Lincoln green; and quoth he, “Easy come these things away, but walnut stain cometh not so speedily from yellow hair.”  Then all laughed louder than before, for it was Robin Hood himself that had won the prize from the Sheriff’s very hands.

Then all sat down to the woodland feast and talked among themselves of the merry jest that had been played upon the Sheriff, and of the adventures that had befallen each member of the band in his disguise.  But when the feast was done, Robin Hood took Little John apart and said, “Truly am I vexed in my blood, for I heard the Sheriff say today, ’Thou shootest better than that coward knave Robin Hood, that dared not show his face here this day.’  I would fain let him know who it was who won the golden arrow from out his hand, and also that I am no coward such as he takes me to be.”