target two inches nearer to the white spot which
marked the centre, than that of Hubert.

"By the light of heaven!" said Prince John to Hubert, "and thou suffer
that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art worthy of the gallows!"

"Shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it shall be the worse for thee!"

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglecting the caution
which he had received from his adversary, he made the necessary
allowance for a very light air of wind, which had just arisen, and
shot so successfully that his arrow alighted in the very centre of the
target.

"A Hubert! a Hubert!" shouted the populace, more interested in a known
person than in a stranger.

"Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley," said the Prince with an
insulting smile.

"I will notch his shaft for him, however," replied Locksley.

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than before, it
lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it split to shivers.
"This must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood," whispered the
yeomen to each other; "such archery was never seen since a bow was first
bent in Britain."

"And now," said Locksley, "I will crave your Grace's permission to plant
such a mark as is used in the North Country; and welcome every brave
yeoman who shall try a shot at it to win a smile from the bonny lass he
loves best."

He then turned to leave the lists, but returned almost instantly with
a willow wand about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather
thicker than a man's thumb. He began to peel this with great composure,
observing at the same time that to ask a good woodsman to shoot at a
target so broad as had hitherto been used, was to put shame upon his
skill. "A child of seven years old might hit yonder target with a
headless shaft, but," added he, walking deliberately to the other end
of the lists, and, sticking the willow wand upright in the ground, "he
that hits that rod five-score yards, I call him an archer fit to bear
both bow and quiver before a king, and it were the stout King Richard
himself."

"My grandsire," said Hubert, "drew a good bow at the battle of Hastings,
and never shot at such a mark in his life--and neither will I. I might
as well shoot at the edge of our parson's whittle, or at a wheat straw,
or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can hardly see."

"Cowardly dog!" said Prince John. "Sirrah Locksley, do thou shoot; but,
if thou hi