Henry Gilbert - Robin Hood

by Robin Hood (Lit)

  Saying this, John disappeared among the bushes and noiselessly stole away.

  Robin and Alan-a-Dale came up, and could not forbear laughing when they saw the sour looks of Black Hugo. "What is this?" asked Robin. "The king's forester bound to a post by some wandering rogue! What, man, and has he taken thy dinner too!"

  The gloomy silence of the forester confirmed what they had gathered from the parting words of the big churl, and both Robin and Alan laughed aloud at the discomfiture of the ranger, who writhed in his bonds.

  "Have done with thy laughter, thou wolf's-head!" he cried to Robin. But Robin laughed the more, until the glade re-echoed. "Unloose me," cried Black Hugo, in a rage, "and I will let thee know what 'tis to laugh at a king's forester, thou broken knave and runagate rascal!"

  Still Robin laughed at the futile anger of the ranger, whose face was flushed as he stormed.

  "I think, friend," said Alan gently, in the midst of his laughter, "thou dost foolishly to threaten this bold woodman whilst thou art in bonds. 'Twere more manly to stay thy threats till thou art free. Thou'rt over bold, friend."

  "Knowest thou not who this rogue is?" cried Hugo. "He is the leader of a pack of escaped serfs, and for their crimes of firing their lord's house and slaying their lord's men they are food for the gallows or for any good man's sword who can hack their wolves' heads from their shoulders."

  "Whatever you may say of this my friend," said Alan coldly, "I can say that both he and his men are bold and true men, and if they have fled from a tyrant lord I blame them not."

  Alan with a haughty look went toward his horse. Robin ceased his laughter, and now addressed the forester:

  "My heart warms to that long-limbed rascal who tied thee up and ate thy dinner," he said. "Thou who with others of thy sort live on poorer folk by extortion and threats, hast now had a taste of what thou givest to those unable to withstand thee. I will give thee time to think over thy sins and thy punishment. Bide there in thy bonds until the owl hoots this night."

  Together Robin and Alan-a-Dale moved from the glade, and the forester was left to cool his anger. The sun poured down its heat upon his naked head, and the more he strained at his bonds the more the flies settled upon him and tormented him. Then he shouted for help, hoping that one of his fellow-foresters might be near, or that some traveler on the highway would hear and come and release him.

  But no one came, and he grew tired of shouting. The sunlight burned through his hose, his tongue and throat were dry, and his arms, pinned to his side and bound by ropes, were almost senseless. The forest about him seemed sunk in silence. Sometimes across the glade a flash of jewel-like light would come. It was a dragon fly, and in the rays of the sun it would hover and swerve before the bushes, like a point of living flame. Then birds came down and hopped and pecked among the embers of his fire, and even at his feet, or from a hole beneath a tree a ferret would peep forth, and encouraged by the silence would steal forth and across the glade, running from cover to cover, until he disappeared in the forest beyond.

  The afternoon wore to a close, the sun went behind the trees on the western verge of the glade, and the shadows stretched along until the gray light lay everywhere. Then the forest seemed to wake up. Bird called to bird across the cool deeps of the trees, the evening wind rustled the leaves, and a great stir seemed to thrill through the woods.

  The blue of the sky became slowly gray, the darkness deepened under the trees, and strange things seemed to be moving in the gloom. There came a great bird flying with noiseless wings, and hovered over the glade. Then it sank, and a sudden shriek rose for a moment as of something from which life was being torn. Then came the weird cry of "To whee _ to whee _ to whoo!"

  The ranger shivered. Somehow the cry seemed like that of a fiend; besides, the cold air was creeping along the ground. He pulled at his arms, which seemed almost dead, and to his wonder his bonds fell away and he found that he was free. He looked behind and inside the hut, but he could see no one. Then with lifeless fingers he picked up the rope which had bound him to the post, and found that it had been cut by a keen knife.

  He looked round affrighted, and crossed himself. Robin the Outlaw had said he should be free when the owl hooted, but who had crept up and cut his bonds so that he had not been aware of it?

  Black Hugo shook his head and wondered. He believed in brownies as much as he believed in his own existence, but hitherto he had not thought that brownies used knives. He shook his head again, and began to chafe his cold limbs, and as the blood began to run through them again he could have cried aloud with the pain.

  He decided that some day ere long he would be revenged upon that seven-foot rascal who had stolen his dinner and tied him up. As for Robin the Outlaw, he would earn four marks by cutting off his head and taking it to the king's chief justice in London.

  Meanwhile, Robin and Alan-a-Dale had pursued their way, discoursing on many things. Both found that they loved the forest, and that never did they find more delight than when with bow in hand they chased the king's deer, or with brave dogs routed the fierce boar from his lair. Robin put Alan upon a short route to his home in Werrisdale, and when they parted they shook hands, and each promised the other that soon they would meet again.

  Then Robin turned back toward the meeting-place at the Stane Lea, where he knew his men would be waiting for him after their chase of the men-at-arms, to share the evening meal together.

  Robin was almost near the end of his journey when he came to the brook which, further up stream, ran beside the very glade where his men would be busy round a big fire cooking their evening meal. At this place, however, the stream was broad, with a rapid current, and the forest path was carried across it on a single narrow beam of oak. It was only wide enough for one man to cross at a time, and of course had no railing.

  Mounting the two wooden steps to it, Robin had walked some two or three feet along it, when on the other bank a tall man appeared, and jumping on the bridge, also began to cross it. Robin recognized him at once, by his height, as the fellow who had tied the forester to his door-post and stolen his dinner. He would have been content to hail the big man as one he would like to know, but that he had a very stubborn air as he walked toward him, as one who would say: "Get out of my way, little man, or I will walk over thee."

  Robin was some twelve or fourteen inches shorter than the other, and being generally reckoned to be tall, and strong withal, he deeply resented the other's inches and his bragging air.

  They stopped and looked frowningly at each other when they were but some ten feet apart.

  "Where are thy manners, fellow?" said Robin haughtily. "Sawest thou not that I was already on the bridge when thou didst place thy great splay feet on it?"

  "Splay feet yourself, jackanapes," retorted the other. "The small jack should ever give way to the big pot."

  "Thou'rt a stranger in these parts, thou uplandish chucklehead!" said Robin; "thy currish tongue betrayeth thee. I'll give thee a good Barnisdale lesson, if thou dost not retreat and let me pass."

  Saying which, Robin drew an arrow from his girdle and notched it on his string. 'Twas a stout bow and long, and one that few men could bend, and the tall man, with a half-angry, half-humorous twinkle in his eye, glanced at it.

  "If thou dost touch thy string," he said, "I'11 leather thy hide to rights."

  "Thou ass," said Robin, "how couldst thou leather any one if this gray goose quill were sticking in thy stupid carcas?"

  "If this is thy Barnisdale teaching," rejoined John, "then 'tis the teaching of cowards. Here art thou, with a good bow in thy hand, making ready to shoot me who hath naught but this quarterstaff."

  Robin paused. He was downright angry with the stranger, but there was something honest and manly and good-natured about the giant which he liked.

  "Have it thy way, then," he said. "We Barnisdale men are not cowards, as thou shalt see ere long. I will e'en lay aside my bow and cut me a staff. Then will I test thy manhood, and if I baste thee not t
ill thou dost smoke like a fire, may the nicker who lives in this stream seize me."

  So saying, Robin turned back and went to the bank, and with his knife he cut a stout staff from as fine a ground oak as could be found anywhere in Bamisdale. Having trimmed this to the weight and length he desired, he ran back on the bridge where the stranger was still waiting for him.

  "Now," said Robin, "we will have a little play together. Whoever is knocked from the bridge into the stream shall lose the battle. So now, go!"

  With the first twirl of Robin's staff the stranger could see that he had no novice to deal with, and as their staves clanged together as they feinted or guarded he felt that the arm of Robin had a strength that was almost if not quite equal to his own.

  Long time their staves whirled like the arms of a windmill, and the cracks of the wood as staff kissed staff were tossed to and fro between the trees on either side of the stream. Suddenly the stranger feinted twice. Quickly as Robin guarded, he could not save the third stroke, and the giant's staff came with a smart rap on Robin's skull.

  "First blood to thee!" cried Robin, as he felt the warmth trickle down his face.

  "Second blood to thee!" said the giant, with a goodnatured laugh.

  Robin, thoroughly angry now, beat with his staff as if it were a flail. Quick as lightning his blows descended, now here, now there, and all the quickness of eye of his opponent could not save him from getting such blows that his very bones rattled.

  Both men were at the great disadvantage of having to keep their footing on the narrow bridge. Every step made forward or backward had to be taken with every care, and the very power with which they struck or guarded almost threw them over one side or the other.

  Great as was the strength of the big man, Robin's quickness of hand and eye were getting the better of him. He was indeed beginning "to smoke," and the sweat gathered on his face and ran down in great drops. Suddenly Robin got a blow in on the big man's crown; but next moment, with a furious stroke, the stranger struck Robin off his balance, and with a mighty splash the outlaw dived into the water.

  For a moment John seemed surprised to find no enemy before him; then, wiping the sweat from his eyes, he cried: "Hallo, good laddie, where art thou now?"

  He bent down anxiously, and peered into the water flowing rapidly beneath the bridge. "By Saint Peter!" he said, "I hope the bold man is not hurt!"

  "Faith!" came a voice from the bank a little further down, "here I am, big fellow, as right as a trivet. Thou'st got the day," Robin went on with a laugh, "and I shall not need to cross the bridge."

  Robin pulled himself up the bank, and, kneeling down, laved his head and face in the water. When he arose, he found the big stranger almost beside him, dashing the water over his own head and face.

  "What!" cried Robin, "hast not gone forward on thy journey? Thou weft in so pesty a hurry to cross the bridge just now that thou wouldst not budge for me, and now thou'st come back."

  "Scorn me not, good fellow," said the big man, with a sheepish laugh. "I have no whither to go that I wot of. I am but a serf who hath run from his manor, and tonight, instead of my warm nest [hut], I shall have to find a bush or a brake that's not too draughty. But I would like to shake hands with thee ere I wend, for thou'rt as true and good a fighter as ever I met."

  Robin's hand was in the other's big fingers at once. and they gave a handshake of mutual respect and liking. Then John turned away, and was for crossing the bridge.

  "Stay awhile," said Robin; "perhaps thou wouldst like supper ere thou goest a-wandering." With these words, Robin placed his horn to his lips and blew a blast that woke the echoes, made the blackbirds fly shrieking away from the bushes, and every animal that lurked in the underwood to dive for the nearest cover. The stranger looked on marveling, and Robin stood waiting and listening. Soon in the distance could be heard sounds as if deer or doe were hurrying through the bushes, and in a little while between the trees could be seen the forms of men running toward them.

  Will Stuteley the Bowman was the first to reach the bank where Robin stood.

  "Why, good master," said he, "what hath happened to thee? Thou'rt wet to the skin!"

  Will looked at the stranger, and glared angrily at him. "'Tis no matter at all," laughed Robin. "You see that tall lad there. We fought on the bridge with staves, and he tumbled me in."

  By this time Much, the Miller's son, Scarlet, and the others had reached the bank, and at Robin's words Scarlet dashed at the stranger, and by a quick play with foot and hand tripped up the big man. Then the others threw themselves upon the stranger, and seizing him cried: "Swing him up and out, lads! Duck him well!"

  "Nay, nay," shouted Robin, laughing. "Forbear, lads. I have no ill-will _ I've put my hand in his, for he's a good fellow and a bold. Get up, lad," he said to the stranger, who had been powerless in the hands of so many, and would next moment have been swung far out into the stream. "Hark ye, seven footer," said Robin. "We are outlaws, brave lads who have run from evil lords. There are twenty-two of us. If thou wilt join us, thou shalt share and share with us, both in hard knocks, good cheer, and the best that we can reive from the rich snuffling priests, proud prelates, evil lords, and hard-hearted merchants who venture through the greenwood. Thou'rt a good hand at the staff; I'll make thee a better hand at the longbow. Now, speak up, jolly blade!"

  "By earth and water, I'll be thy man," cried the stranger, coming eagerly forward and holding out his hand, which Robin seized and wrung. "Never heard I sweeter words than those you have said, and with all my my heart will I serve thee and thy fellowship."

  "What is thy name, good man?" asked Robin.

  "John o' the Stubbs," replied the other; "but" _ with a great laugh _ "men call me John the Little."

  "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the others, and crowded round shaking hands with him and crying out: "John, little man, give me thy great hand!"

  "His name shall be altered," said stout Will the Bowman, "and we will baptize him in good brown ale. Now, shall we not go back to camp, master, and make a feast on it?"

  "Ay, lads," replied Robin, "we will be merry this night. We have a new fellow to our company, and will e'en bless him with good ale and fat venison."

  They raced back to camp, where over the fire Scadlock had a great cauldron, from whence arose the most appetizing odors for men grown hungry in greenwood air. Robin changed his garments for dry ones, which were taken from a secret storeplace in a cave near by, and then, standing round John the Little, who overtopped them all, the outlaws held each his wooden mug filled to the brim with good brown ale.

  "Now, lads," said Stuteley, "we will baptize our new comrade into our good free company of forest lads. He has hitherto been called John the Little, and a sweet pretty babe he is. But from now on he shall be called Little John. Three cheers, lads, for Little John!"

  How they made the twilight ring! the leaves overhead quivered with the shouts. Then they tossed off their mugs of ale, and gathering round the cauldron they dipped their pannikins into the rich stew and fell to feasting.

  Afterward Little John told them of his meeting with the forester, and how he had tied him up and ate up his dinner before his eyes. They laughed hugely over this, for all bore some grudge against Black Hugo and the other foresters for their treacherous oppression of poor peasants living on the forest borders. They voted John a brave and hefty lad, and said that if they could get fifty such as he they would be strong enough to pull down the Evil Hold of Wrangby, or the robbers' castle on Hagthorn Waste.

  Then Robin continued Little John's tale, and told how he left the ranger in his bonds "to think over his sins till the owl hooted."

  "What mean you, master?" said Little John. "Did you go back and cut the rogue loose?"

  It was dark now, and only the flicker of the firelight lit up the strong brown faces of the men as they lay or squatted.

  "Nay, I cut not the rogue loose! But he is free by now, and, I doubt not, crying o'er his aching limbs, and breathing vengeance agains
t us both."

  "How, then, master?" said Little John, gaping with wonder; while the others also listened, marveling at their leader's talk.

  "I have friends in the greenwood," said Robin, "who aid me in many things. Yet they are shy of strangers, and will not willingly show themselves until they know ye better. Hob o' the Hill, show thyself, lad!"

  Then, to the terror of them all, from a dark patch near Robin's feet there rose a little man whose long face shone pale in the firelight, and whose black eyes gleamed like sloes. Some of the men, keeping their eyes on him, dragged themselves away; others crossed themselves; and Much, the Miller's son, took off his tunic and turned it inside out.

  "Holy Peter!" he murmured, "shield us from the power of evil spirits!"

  "Out upon thee all!" cried Robin in a stern voice. "Hob is no evil spirit, but a man as thou art, with but smaller limbs, maybe, but keener wits."