And a right good account of himself he gave that day, dealing with each man as he came up according to his merit. And so winded were the pursuers when they reached the top of the hill that he laid out the first ten of them right and left with huge blows of his brawny fist. But if five men can do more than three, a score can overcome one. A body of archers stood off at a prudent distance and covered Little John with their arrows. “Now yield you!” panted the Sheriff. “Yield you, Little John, or Reynold Greenleaf, or whatever else name you carry this day! Yield you, or some few of these shafts will reach your heart!” “Marry, my heart has been touched by your words ere now,” said Little John; “and I yield me.” So the Sheriff’s men laid hold of Little John and bound him fast with many cords, so fearful were they lest he should escape. And the Sheriff laughed aloud in glee, and thought of how he should avenge his stolen plate, and determined to make a good day’s work of it. “By the Saints!” he said, “you shall be drawn by dale and down, and hanged high on a hill in Barnesdale this very day.” “Hang and be hanged!” retorted the prisoner. “You may fail of your purpose if it be Heaven’s will.” Back down the hill and across the moor went the company speedily, for they feared a rescue. And as they went the stragglers joined them. Here a man got up feebly out of the ditch and rubbed his pate and fell in like a chicken with the pip going for its dinner. Yonder came hobbling a man with a lame ankle, or another with his shins torn by the briars or another with his jacket all muddy from the marsh. So in truth it was a tatterdemalion crew that limped and straggled and wandered back into Barnesdale that day. Yet all were merry, for the Sheriff had promised them flagons of wine, and moreover they were to hang speedily the boldest outlaw in England, next to Robin Hood himself. The gallows was quickly put up and a new rope provided. “Now up with you!” commanded the Sheriff, “and let us see if your greenwood tricks will avail you to-morrow.” “I would that I had bold Robin’s horn,” muttered poor John; “methinks ‘tis all up with me even as the Sheriff hath spoken.” In good sooth the time was dire and pressing. The rope was placed around the prisoner’s neck and the men prepared to haul away. “Are you ready?” called the Sheriff. “One--two--” But before the “three” left his lips the faint sound of a silver bugle came floating over the hill. “By my troth, that is Sir Guy of Gisborne’s horn,” quoth the Sheriff; “and he bade me not to delay answering its summons. He has caught Robin Hood.” “Pardon, Excellency,” said one of his men; “but if he has caught Robin Hood, this is a merry day indeed. And let us save this fellow and build another gallows and hang them both together.” “That’s a brave thought!” said the Sheriff slapping his knee. “Take the rascal down and bind him fast to the gallows-tree against our return.”