This strident warbling woke Robin abruptly, and he leapt up with a gesture of fear.

  “Why, Robin,” said Little John, “what is it?”

  “Naught,” replied the young man, composing himself again. “I had a dream, and I know not whether I should say it, but I was frightened. Methought I was attacked by two yeoman; they beat me unmercifully, and I returned their blows with an equal generosity. However, I was almost vanquished, death stood beside me, when a bird which came I know not whence, sang to me, ‘Take courage, I will send thee help.’ I am awake, and I see neither the bird nor the danger. But then dreams do not come true,” added Robin, smiling.

  “I am not of your opinion, Captain,” said John, seriously, “for part of your dream was true. A moment agone, upon the branch which you are touching, a thrush was singing with all its might. Your awakening put it to flight. Perhaps it came to warn you.”

  “Are you getting superstitious, friend John?” asked Robin, pleasantly. “Come, come, at your age ‘twould be ridiculous; such childishness is for young girls and boys, not for us. However,” he continued, “perchance ‘tis wise, in an existence so adventurous as ours, to pay attention to every occurrence. Who knows? Perhaps the thrush said, ‘Sentinels, beware!’ and we are the sentinels of a troop of brave men. Forward, then; forewarned is forearmed.”

  Robin wound his horn, and the Merrie Men, dispersed through the wood, ran up in answer to his call.

  Robin sent them down the road to York, for on that side alone was an attack to be feared, and, accompanied by John, he went to search the opposite side of the wood, William and two stout Foresters taking the road to Mansfield.

  After searching the paths and roads toward which they had bent their steps, Robin and John made their way down the road followed by Will Scarlett. There, in a vale, they met a yeoman with his body wrapped in the skin of a horse, which served him for cloak. At that epoch, this strange garment was in great favour among the Yorkshire yeomen, the greater number of whom were engaged in horse breeding.

  The newcomer wore at his side a sword and dirk, and his face, with its cruel expression, told plainly enough of the murderous uses to which his weapons were wont to be put.

  “Ha, ha!” cried Robin, as he perceived him, “upon my soul, here comes a very ruffian. Crime oozes from him. I will question him; but an if he do not answer like an honest man, I will see the colour of his blood.”

  “He hath the appearance of a mastiff with good teeth, Robin. Beware; do you remain beneath this tree, while I ask his name, surname, and qualities.”

  “My dear John,” replied Robin, quickly, “I have taken a fancy to that rascal. Let me tan his hide in mine own way. It is a long time since I was beaten, and, by the Holy Mother, my good protectress, I should never exchange a blow with any one if I listened to your prudent advice. Take care, friend John,” added Robin, in an affectionate tone, “there will come a time when in default of an adversary, I shall be obliged to beat thee unmercifully; oh! only to keep my hand in, but thou wilt be none the less the victim of thy benevolent generosity. Go and rejoin Will, and do not return to me until thou hearest the sound of a triumphant blast.”

  “Your will is my law, Robin Hood,” answered John, in an offended voice, “and it is my duty to obey, however unwillingly.”

  We will leave Robin on his way to meet the stranger, and we will follow Little John, who, faithful slave to his Chief’s commands, hastened after William, who had started with two men on the high-road to Mansfield.

  About three hundred yards from the spot where Little John left Robin alone with the yeoman, he found Will Scarlett with his two companions, occupied in exercising all their strength against a dozen soldiers. John gave a shout, and with a bound placed himself beside his friends. But the danger, already so great, became even more so as the clash of arms and the sound of horses’ hoofs attracted the young man’s attention to the extremity of the road.

  At the end of the road, and in the half-shadow cast by the trees, appeared a company of soldiers, and at their head trotted a richly caparisoned horse.

  John sprang forward to meet the newcomers, bent his bow, and took aim at the Baron. The movements of the young man followed each other with such rapidity and violence that his too tightly stretched bow broke like a thread of glass.

  John uttered a curse upon his inoffensive arrow, seized a new bow handed to him by an outlaw, who had been mortally wounded by the soldiers fighting with William.

  The Baron understood the archer’s actions and intentions; he bent down low upon his horse until he appeared to be one with the animal, and the arrow destined for him sent a man behind him rolling in the dust.

  His fall maddened the whole troop, who, determined to carry off the victory, and finding themselves in the majority, spurred their horses and advanced rapidly.

  One of William’s comrades was dead, the other was still fighting, but it was easy to perceive that he could not last long. John saw the danger to which his cousin was exposed, and falling upon the group of combatants, he snatched Will from their grasp, urging him to fly.

  “Never,” cried Will, firmly.

  “For pity’s sake, Will,” said John, continuing to hit out at his aggressors, “go seek Robin and call the Merrie Men. Alas, rivers of blood will flow this day; the song of the thrush was a heaven-sent warning.”

  William went at his cousin’s request; it was easy to understand its import considering the number of soldiers who now appeared in the glade. He dealt a terrific blow at a man who attempted to bar his way, and disappeared in the thicket.

  Little John fought like a lion, but it was madness to try and fight so many enemies single handed; he was vanquished and fell, and the soldiers, after binding him hand and foot, tied him to a tree. The Baron’s arrival was to decide the fate of our poor friend.

  Lord Fitz-Alwine hastened up, attracted by the shouts of the soldiers. At sight of the prisoner, a smile of gratified hate lent a ferocious expression to the Baron’s features.

  “Ha! ha!” said he, relishing with unspeakable joy the triumph of his victory, “I have you in my hands then, great maypole of the Forest. You shall pay dearly for your insolence, ere I despatch you into another world.”

  “By my faith,” said John, in a flippant tone, biting his lip furiously the while, “whatever tortures it may please you to inflict upon me, they could not make you forget that I have held your life in my hands, and that if you still have the power to martyrize the Saxons, it is to my goodness that you owe it. But beware! Robin Hood is coming, and you will not have the easy victory over him that you have had over me.”

  “Robin Hood,” sneered the Baron. “Robin Hood’s last hour will soon arrive. I have ordered his head to be cut off and his body to be left here as food for maneating wolves. Soldiers,” he added, turning to two men, the vile slaves of his wishes, “place this villain upon a horse and let us remain on this spot to await the return of Sir Guy, who will, I presume, bring us Robin Hood’s head.”

  The men who had dismounted stood ready to leap into the saddle, and the Baron, seated comfortably upon a grassy hillock, waited patiently for Sir Guy Gisborne’s bugle call.

  Let us leave his lordship to recover from his fatigue, and see what has been passing between Robin Hood and the man in the horse-skin cloak.

  “Good morrow, fair Sir,” said Robin, approaching the stranger. “One might think, judging by the excellent bow you carry, that you were a brave and honest archer.”

  “I have lost my way,” replied the traveller, disdaining to reply to the interrogatory supposition addressed to him “and I fear much to stray in this labyrinth of cross-roads, glades, and paths.”

  “To me all the forest paths are well known, Master,” replied Robin, politely “and if you will tell me to what part of the wood you wish to make your way, I will be your guide.”

  “I am not making my way to any particular spot,” answered the stranger, examining his interlocutor attentively, “I wish to get near the middle of the wood, for I hope to meet there a man with whom I would fain converse.”

  “This man is doubtless some friend of yours?” asked Robin, amiably.

  “Nay,” returned the stranger, quickly; “he is a villain of the deepest dye, an Outlaw who doth well deserve the noose.

  “Oh! indeed,” said Robin, still smiling. “And may one inquire without indiscretion, the name of this scapegrace?”

  “Certainly; he is called Robin Hood. And hark ye, young man, I would gladly give ten peces of gold to have the pleasure of meeting him.”

  “My good Sir,” said Robin, “congratulate yourself upon the luck which hath placed you in my way, for I can conduct you into the presence of Robin Hood without putting your generosity to the proof. Only suffer me to ask your name.”

  “I am called Sir Guy Gisborne. I am rich and own many vassals. My costume, as you may well imagine, is but a clever disguise. Robin Hood, not being on his guard against a poor devil so wretchedly attired, will let me come right up to him. So the question is simply how to find him. Once within reach of my hand he will die, I swear it, without having either the time or chance to defend himself; I will slay him without ruth or pity.”

  “Robin Hood hath done you much evil then?”

  “For no reason at all, simply because it is my pleasure.”

  “A singular pleasure, if you will pardon me for saying so; and moreover, I pity you greatly for having such bloodthirsty ideas.”

  “Well, you are wrong. I am not really ill-natured, and had it not been for that fool Fitz-Alwine, I should be at this moment wending my way quietly homeward. It was he who induced me to make the attempt, by defying me to vanquish Robin Hood. My self-esteem is involved, therefore I must bear off the victory at any price. But, by the way,” added Sir Guy, “now that I have told you my name, estate, and projects, you must answer me in your turn. Who are you?”

  “Who am I?” repeated Robin, with loud voice and serious look. “I am the Earl of Huntingdon, the King of the Forest; I am the man you seek, I am Robin Hood!”

  The Norman leapt back.

  “Then prepare to die,” he cried, drawing his sword. “Sir Guy Gisborne hath but one word; he hath sworn to kill thee, thou shalt die! To thy prayers, Robin Hood, for in a few minutes the call of my hunting-horn will announce to my companions, who are near at hand, that the Outlaw Chief is only a headless, shapeless corpse.”

  “To the vanquisher shall be reserved the right of disposing of the body of his adversary,” replied Robin Hood, coldly. “Look to thyself! Thou hast sworn to spare me not; I swear on my side that if the Holy Virgin grant me the victory, I will treat thee as thou dost deserve, ome then, no quarter for either; ‘tis matter of life and death.”

  And with that, the two opponents crossed swords.

  The Norman was not only a perfect Hercules, but also a past master in the art of fencing. He attacked Robin with such fury that the young man, hard pressed, was forced to step back, and caught his foot in the roots of an oak ree. Sir Guy, whose eye was as quick as his hand was strong, at once perceived his advantage; he redoubled his blows, and several times Robin felt his sword turn in the nervous grasp of his hand. His position was becoming critical; his movements fettered by the gnarled roots of the tree, which bruised his ankles, he could neither advance nor retire; he therefore determined to leap beyond the circle in which he was enclosed, and with a spring like that of a stag at bay, he leapt to the opposite side of the path, but in jumping he caught his foot in a low branch which sent him rolling in the dust. Sir Guy was not the man to miss such an opportunity for revenge; he uttered a triumphant cry, and threw himself on Robin with every intention of splitting open his head.

  Robin saw his danger, and closing his eyes, he murmured fervently, “Holy Mother of God, help me! Dear Lady of Succour, wilt thou leave me to die by the hand of this miserable Norman?”

  Hardly had Robin pronounced these words, which Sir Guy did not dare to interrupt (taking them no doubt for an act of contrition), than he felt a new force in all his limbs. He turned the point of his sword towards his enemy, and, as the latter sought to turn aside the menacing weapon, Robin leapt to his feet and stood up strong and free in the middle of the road. The combat, suspended for a moment, began again with renewed vigour; but the victory had changed sides and was now with Robin. Sir Guy, disarmed and struck full in the breast, fell dead without even a cry. After thanking God for the success of his arms, Robin assured himself that Sir Guy had really breathed his last; and, as he looked upon the Norman, Robin remembered that this man had not come alone to seek him, but had brought with him a troop of companions, who were now hidden somewhere in the wood, awaiting the call of his hunting-horn.

  “I think it would be wise,” thought Robin, “to find out whether these brave fellows are not Baron Fitz-Alwine’s soldiers, and see for myself the pleasure which the news of my death will give him. I will dress myself in Sir Guy’s clothes, cut off his head, and call hither his waiting companions.”

  Robin Hood stripped the Norman’s body of the chief parts of his costume, put them on, not without a feeling of disgust, and when he had thrown the horse’s skin over his shoulders, he resembled Sir Guy Gisborue nearly enough to be mistaken for him.

  The disguise accomplished, and the Norman’s head made unrecognisable at a first glance, Robin Hood sounded the horn.

  A hurrah of triumph answered the young man’s call, and he rushed toward the spot from whence he heard the joyous voices.

  “Hark! hark again!” cried Fitz-Alwine, starting up. “Is not that the sound of Sir Guy’s horn?”

  “Yea, my lord,” replied one of the Knight’s men; “it could not be mistaken; my master’s horn hath its own peculiar note.”

  “Victory, then!” cried the old man, “the brave and worthy Sir Guy hath slain Robin Hood.”

  “An hundred Sir Guys could not succeed in beating Robin Hood, if they attacked him one by one and fairly,” roared poor Little John, his heart oppressed by terrible anguish.

  “Silence, thou long-legged dolt!” answered the Baron, brutally; “and if thine eyes be good, look toward the end of the glade, where thou wilt see, hurrying to us, Sir Guy Gisborne, the vanquisher of thy wretched chief.”

  John raised himself, and saw, as the Baron had said, a yeoman with his body half enveloped in a horse’s hide. Robin imitated the gait of the Knight so well, that John thought he recognised the man whom he had left face to face with his friend.

  “Ah, the ruffian! the miscreant!” shouted the young man in despair. “He hath killed Robin Hood! He hath killed I the most valiant Saxon in all England! Vengeance! vengeance! vengeance! Robin Hood hath friends, and in Nottinghamshire there are a thousand hands able and willing to punish his murderer!”

  “To thy prayers, dog!” cried the Baron, “and leave us in peace. Thy master is dead, and thou shalt die like him. To thy prayers, and try to preserve thy soul from the tortures which await thy body. Dost think thou hast a claim upon our pity in pursuing with thy vain threats the noble Knight who hath rid the earth of an infamous Outlaw? Approach, brave Sir Guy,” continued Lord Fitz-Alwine, addressing Robin Hood, who advanced quickly. “Thou dost merit all our praise and consideration; thou hast rid thy country from this scourge of Outlaws, thou hast killed a man whom the popular terror declared invincible, thou hast slain the celebrated Robin Hood! Ask me for the reward due to thy good offices. I will place at thy disposal my favour at Court, the support of my eternal friendship. Ask what thou wilt, noble Knight, I am ready to do thy bidding.”

  Robin had taken in the situation at a glance, and the fierce look which John shot at him revealed to him even more clearly than the old Baron’s protestations of gratitude, how complete was the success of his disguise.

  “I merit not such thanks,” answered Robin, imitating the Knight’s voice to the echo. “I have slain mine adversary in fair combat, and since you are willing to allow me to claim the reward of my prowess, I ask, my dear Baron, in return for the service I have just rendered you, permission to array myself against yonder rascal whom you have seized. He sits glaring at me so that he doth quite anger me; I will e’en send him to bear his amiable comrade company in the next world.”

  “As you will,” returned Lord Fitz-Alwine, rubbing his hands gleefully. “Kill him, an it so please you, his life is yours.”

  Robin Hood’s voice had not deceived Little John, and a sigh of unspeakable satisfaction had lifted from his heart the terrible anxiety he was beginning to experience.

  Robin approached John, followed by the Baron.

  “My Lord,” said Robin, laughingly, “pray leave me alone with this villain. I am convinced that the fear of an ignominious death will compel him to confide in me the secret of the hiding-place of the robber band. Keep back, and draw off your men, for I will treat any inquisitive person in the manner that I used toward the man whose head you see here.”

  As he spoke these words, Robin put the bloody trophy into Lord Fitz-Alwine’s arms. The old man uttered a cry of horror; Sir Guy’s disfigured head rolled upon the ground, face downwards.

  The terrified soldiers decamped with all speed.

  Robin Hood, left alone with Little John, hastened to cut his bonds, and put into his hands the bow and arrows which had belonged to Sir Guy; then he wound his horn.

  Hardly had the sound stirred the depths of the wood ere a great clamour was heard as the branches of the trees were thrust violently aside to make way, first for Will Scarlett, whose face was of so vivid a red as to approach purple, and next for a body of the Merrie Men, sword in hand.

  This terrifying apparition appeared to the Baron more like a dream than an actual fact. He saw without perceiving, heard without understanding, his mind and body were completely paralysed by an overwhelming terror. This moment of supreme agony seemed of endless duration; he made a step forward towards the supposed Norman, and found himself face to face with Robin Hood, who, having rid himself of the horse-skin and drawn his sword, commanded the respect of the soldiers as well as that of their no less dejected leader.