me forward to do the Sheriff's business. Then said
he, "A right good reward have I offered to whosoever would serve my
warrant upon Robin Hood, and I marvel that no one has come to undertake
the task."

Then one of his men who was near him said, "Good master, thou wottest
not the force that Robin Hood has about him and how little he cares for
warrant of king or sheriff. Truly, no one likes to go on this service,
for fear of cracked crowns and broken bones."

"Then I hold all Nottingham men to be cowards," said the Sheriff. "And
let me see the man in all Nottinghamshire that dare disobey the warrant
of our sovereign lord King Harry, for, by the shrine of Saint Edmund, I
will hang him forty cubits high! But if no man in Nottingham dare win
fourscore angels, I will send elsewhere, for there should be men of
mettle somewhere in this land."

Then he called up a messenger in whom he placed great trust, and bade
him saddle his horse and make ready to go to Lincoln Town to see whether
he could find anyone there that would do his bidding and win the reward.
So that same morning the messenger started forth upon his errand.

Bright shone the sun upon the dusty highway that led from Nottingham to
Lincoln, stretching away all white over hill and dale. Dusty was the
highway and dusty the throat of the messenger, so that his heart was
glad when he saw before him the Sign of the Blue Boar Inn, when somewhat
more than half his journey was done. The inn looked fair to his eyes,
and the shade of the oak trees that stood around it seemed cool and
pleasant, so he alighted from his horse to rest himself for a time,
calling for a pot of ale to refresh his thirsty throat.

There he saw a party of right jovial fellows seated beneath the
spreading oak that shaded the greensward in front of the door. There was
a tinker, two barefoot friars, and a party of six of the King's
foresters all clad in Lincoln green, and all of them were quaffing
humming ale and singing merry ballads of the good old times. Loud
laughed the foresters, as jests were bandied about between the singing,
and louder laughed the friars, for they were lusty men with beards that
curled like the wool of black rams; but loudest of all laughed the
Tinker, and he sang more sweetly than any of the rest. His bag and his
hammer hung upon a twig of the oak tree, and near by leaned his good
stout cudgel, as thick as his wrist and knotted at the end.

"Come," cried one of the fores