But now the time had come when those who were to shoot with the longbow were to take their places, so the people began flocking to the butts where the shooting was to be.  Near the target, in a good place, sat the Sheriff upon a raised dais, with many gentlefolk around him.  When the archers had taken their places, the herald came forward and proclaimed the rules of the game, and how each should shoot three shots, and to him that should shoot the best the prize of two fat steers was to belong.  A score of brave shots were gathered there, and among them some of the keenest hands at the longbow in Lincoln and Nottinghamshire; and among them Little John stood taller than all the rest.  “Who is yon stranger clad all in scarlet?” said some, and others answered, “It is he that hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric o’ Lincoln.”  Thus the people talked among themselves, until at last it reached even the Sheriff’s ears.

And now each man stepped forward and shot in turn; but though each shot well, Little John was the best of all, for three times he struck the clout, and once only the length of a barleycorn from the center.  “Hey for the tall archer!” shouted the crowd, and some among them shouted, “Hey for Reynold Greenleaf!” for this was the name that Little John had called himself that day.

Then the Sheriff stepped down from the raised seat and came to where the archers stood, while all doffed their caps that saw him coming.  He looked keenly at Little John but did not know him, though he said, after a while, “How now, good fellow, methinks there is that about thy face that I have seen erewhile.”

“Mayhap it may be so,” quoth Little John, “for often have I seen Your Worship.”  And, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriff’s eyes so that the latter did not suspect who he was.

“A brave blade art thou, good friend,” said the Sheriff, “and I hear that thou hast well upheld the skill of Nottinghamshire against that of Lincoln this day.  What may be thy name, good fellow?”

“Men do call me Reynold Greenleaf, Your Worship,” said Little John; and the old ballad that tells of this, adds, “So, in truth, was he a green leaf, but of what manner of tree the Sheriff wotted not.”

“Now, Reynold Greenleaf,” quoth the Sheriff, “thou art the fairest hand at the longbow that mine eyes ever beheld, next to that false knave, Robin Hood, from whose wiles Heaven forfend me!  Wilt thou join my service, good fellow?  Thou shalt be paid right well, for three suits of clothes shalt thou have a year, with good food and as much ale as thou canst drink; and, besides this, I will pay thee forty marks each Michaelmastide.”

“Then here stand I a free man, and right gladly will I enter thy household,” said Little John, for he thought he might find some merry jest, should he enter the Sheriff’s service.

“Fairly hast thou won the fat steers,” said the Sheriff, “and hereunto I will add a butt of good March beer, for joy of having gotten such a man; for, I wot, thou shootest as fair a shaft as Robin Hood himself.”