Rodriguez thought of no answer; but after a moment he said, for the sake of loyalty:  “I know one king only.”

“There is only one king in Shadow Valley,” said the bowman.

“He brings a tribute of emeralds,” said another, looking at Rodriguez’ scabbard.  And then they searched him and others search Morano.  There were eight or nine of them, all in their leaf-green hats, with ribbons round their necks of the same colour to hold the copper disks.  They took a gold coin from Morano and grey greasy pieces of silver.  One of them took his frying-pan; but he looked so pitifully at them as he said simply, “I starve,” that the frying-pan was restored to him.

They unbuckled Rodriguez’ belt and took from him sword and scabbard and three gold pieces from his purse.  Next they found the gold piece that was hanging round his neck, still stuffed inside his clothes where he had put it when he was riding.  Having examined it they put it back inside his clothes, while the leader rebuckled his sword-belt about his waist and returned him his three gold-pieces.

Others returned his money to Morano.  “Master,” said the leader, bowing to Rodriguez, his green hat in hand, “under our King, the forest is yours.”

Morano was pleased to hear this respect paid to his master, but Rodriguez was so surprised that he who was never curt without reason found no more to say than “Why?”

“Because we are your servants,” said the other.

“Who are you?” asked Rodriguez.

“We are the green bowmen, master,” he said, “who hold this forest against all men for our King.”

“And who is he?” said Rodriguez.

And the bowman answered:  “The King of Shadow Valley,” at which the others all touched hats and bowed heads again.  And Rodriguez seeing that the mystery would grow no clearer for any information to be had from them said:  “Conduct me to your king.”

“That, master, we cannot do,” said the chief of the bowmen.  “There be many trees in this forest, and behind any one of them he holds his court.  When he needs us there is his clear horn.  But when men need him who knows which shadow is his of all that lie in the forest?” Whether or not there was anything interesting in the mystery, to Rodriguez it was merely annoying; and finding it grew no clearer he turned his attention to shelter for the night, to which all travellers give a thought at least once, between noon and sunset.

“Is there any house on this road, senor,” he said, “in which we could rest the night?”

“Ten miles from here,” said he, “and not far from the road you take is the best house we have in the forest.  It is yours, master, for as long as you honour it.”

“Come then,” said Rodriguez, “and I thank you, senor.”

So they all started together, Rodriguez with the leader going in front and Morano following with all the bowmen.  And soon the bowmen were singing songs of the forest, hunting songs, songs of the winter; and songs of the long summer evenings, songs of love.  Cheered by this merriment, the miles slipped by.