Chapter 9

"An I must drink sour ale, I must," quoth Robin, "but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now. Ho, my merry men! Come quickly!" Then from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in Lincoln green. "How now, good master," cried Little John, "what need hast thou that thou dost wind thy horn so loudly?" "There stands a tinker," quoth Robin, "that would fain take me to Nottingham, there to hang upon the gallows tree…