“Now stand thou back,” quoth Robin, “and let the better man cross
first.”

“Nay,” answered the stranger, “then stand back shine own self, for the
better man, I wet, am I.”

“That will we presently see,” quoth Robin, “and meanwhile stand thou
where thou art, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I will
show thee right good Nottingham play with a clothyard shaft betwixt thy
ribs.”

“Now,” quoth the stranger, “I will tan thy hide till it be as many
colors as a beggar’s cloak, if thou darest so much as touch a string of
that same bow that thou holdest in thy hands.”

“Thou pratest like an ass,” said Robin, “for I could send this shaft
clean through thy proud heart before a curtal friar could say grace over
a roast goose at Michaelmastide.”

“And thou pratest like a coward,” answered the stranger, “for thou
standest there with a good yew bow to shoot at my heart, while I have
nought in my hand but a plain blackthorn staff wherewith to meet thee.”

“Now,” quoth Robin, “by the faith of my heart, never have I had a
coward’s name in all my life before. I will lay by my trusty bow and
eke my arrows, and if thou darest abide my coming, I will go and cut a
cudgel to test thy manhood withal.”

“Ay, marry, that will I abide thy coming, and joyously, too,” quoth the
stranger; whereupon he leaned sturdily upon his staff to await Robin.

Then Robin Hood stepped quickly to the coverside and cut a good staff of
ground oak, straight, without new, and six feet in length, and came back
trimming away the tender stems from it, while the stranger waited for
him, leaning upon his staff, and whistling as he gazed round about.
Robin observed him furtively as he trimmed his staff, measuring him from
top to toe from out the corner of his eye, and thought that he had never
seen a lustier or a stouter man. Tall was Robin, but taller was the
stranger by a head and a neck, for he was seven feet in height. Broad
was Robin across the shoulders, but broader was the stranger by twice
the breadth of a palm, while he measured at least an ell around the
waist.

“Nevertheless,” said Robin to himself, “I will baste thy hide right
merrily, my good fellow”; then, aloud, “Lo, here is my good staff, lusty
and tough. Now wait my coming, an thou darest, and meet me an thou
fearest not. Then we will fight until one or the other of us tumble into
the stream by dint of blows.”

“Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!” cried the stranger, twirling his
staff above his head, betwixt his fingers and thumb, until it whistled
again.

Never did the Knights of Arthur’s Round Table meet in a stouter fight
than did these two. In a moment Robin stepped quickly upon the bridge
where the stranger stood; first he made a feint, and then delivered a
blow at the stranger’s head that, had it met its mark, would have
tumbled him speedily into the water. But the stranger turned the blow
right deftly and in return gave one as stout, which Robin also turned as
the stranger had done. So they stood, each in his place, neither moving
a finger’s-breadth back, for one good hour, and many blows were given
and received by each in that time, till here and there were sore bones
and bumps, yet neither thought of crying “Enough,” nor seemed likely to
fall from off the bridge. Now and then they stopped to rest, and each
thought that he never had seen in all his life before such a hand at
quarterstaff. At last Robin gave the stranger a blow upon the ribs that
made his jacket smoke like a damp straw thatch in the sun. So shrewd
was the stroke that the stranger came within a hair’s-breadth of falling
off the bridge, but he regained himself right quickly and, by a
dexterous blow, gave Robin a crack on the crown that caused the blood to
flow. Then Robin grew mad with anger and smote with all his might at the
other. But the stranger warded the blow and once again thwacked Robin,
and this time so fairly that he fell heels over head into the water, as
the queen pin falls in a game of bowls.

“And where art thou now, my good lad?” shouted the stranger, roaring
with laughter.

“Oh, in the flood and floating adown with the tide,” cried Robin, nor
could he forbear laughing himself at his sorry plight. Then, gaining his
feet, he waded to the bank, the little fish speeding hither and thither,
all frightened at his splashing.

“Give me thy hand,” cried he, when he had reached the bank. “I must
needs own thou art a brave and a sturdy soul and, withal, a good stout
stroke with the cudgels. By this and by that, my head hummeth like to a
hive of bees on a hot June day.”

Then he clapped his horn to his lips and winded a blast that went
echoing sweetly down the forest paths. “Ay, marry,” quoth he again,
“thou art a tall lad, and eke a brave one, for ne’er, I bow, is there a
man betwixt here and Canterbury Town could do the like to me that thou
hast done.”

“And thou,” quoth the stranger, laughing, “takest thy cudgeling like a
brave heart and a stout yeoman.”

But now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the coming of men,
and suddenly a score or two of good stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln
green, burst from out the covert, with merry Will Stutely at their head.

“Good master,” cried Will, “how is this? Truly thou art all wet from
head to foot, and that to the very skin.”

“Why, marry,” answered jolly Robin, “yon stout fellow hath tumbled me
neck and crop into the water and hath given me a drubbing beside.”

“Then shall he not go without a ducking and eke a drubbing himself!”
cried Will Stutely. “Have at him, lads!”

Then Will and a score of yeomen leaped upon the stranger, but though
they sprang quickly they found him ready and felt him strike right and
left with his stout staff, so that, though he went down with press of
numbers, some of them rubbed cracked crowns before he was overcome.