of their target!"

And though he was but barely grown he stood so straight and his eye
flashed with such fire that the three brothers seized his hand and
shouted:

"A Lockesley! a Lockesley! if you win the golden arrow you shall be
chief of outlaws in Sherwood Forest!"

So Rob fell to planning how he could disguise himself to go to
Nottingham town; for he knew that the Foresters had even then set a
price on his head in the market-place.

It was even as Rob had surmised. The Sheriff of Nottingham posted a
reward of two hundred pounds for the capture, dead or alive, of one
Robert Fitzooth, outlaw. And the crowds thronging the streets upon that
busy Fair day often paused to read the notice and talk together about
the death of the Head Forester.

But what with wrestling bouts and bouts with quarter-staves, and
wandering minstrels, there came up so many other things to talk about,
that the reward was forgotten for the nonce, and only the Foresters
and Sheriff's men watched the gates with diligence, the Sheriff indeed
spurring them to effort by offers of largess. His hatred of the father
had descended to the son.

The great event of the day came in the afternoon. It was the archer's
contest for the golden arrow, and twenty men stepped forth to shoot.
Among them was a beggar-man, a sorry looking fellow with leggings of
different colors, and brown scratched face and hands. Over a tawny shock