"With all my heart," cried merry Robin. "Rattle my bones, an thou
canst." So saying, he gripped his staff and threw himself upon his
guard. Then the Tinker spat upon his hands and, grasping his staff, came
straight at the other. He struck two or three blows, but soon found
that he had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them,
and, before the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in
return. At this Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry
than ever, and smote again with all his might and main. Again Robin
warded two of the strokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the
mighty blows of the Tinker. "Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff,"
cried Robin, as it fell from his hands; "a foul stick art thou to serve
me thus in mine hour of need."

"Now yield thee," quoth the Tinker, "for thou art my captive; and if
thou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding."

To this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips,
he blew three blasts, loud and clear.

"Ay," quoth the Tinker, "blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to
Nottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there. Now wilt
thou yield thee, or shall I have to break thy pretty head?"

"An I must drink sour ale, I must," quoth Robin, "but never have I
yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body.
Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now. Ho, my merry men! Come
quickly!"

Then from out the forest leaped Little John and six stout yeomen clad in