Nought spake the stranger but took his place, while all was hushed, and
no one spoke or even seemed to breathe, so great was the silence
for wonder what he would do. Meanwhile, also, quite still stood the
stranger, holding his bow in his hand, while one could count five; then
he drew his trusty yew, holding it drawn but a moment, then loosed the
string. Straight flew the arrow, and so true that it smote a gray goose
feather from off Gilbert's shaft, which fell fluttering through the
sunlit air as the stranger's arrow lodged close beside his of the Red
Cap, and in the very center. No one spoke a word for a while and no one
shouted, but each man looked into his neighbor's face amazedly.

"Nay," quoth old Adam o' the Dell presently, drawing a long breath
and shaking his head as he spoke, "twoscore years and more have I shot
shaft, and maybe not all times bad, but I shoot no more this day, for
no man can match with yon stranger, whosoe'er he may be." Then he
thrust his shaft into his quiver, rattling, and unstrung his bow without
another word.

Then the Sheriff came down from his dais and drew near, in all his silks
and velvets, to where the tattered stranger stood leaning upon his
stout bow, while the good folk crowded around to see the man who shot so
wondrously well. "Here, good fellow," quoth the Sheriff, "take thou
the prize, and well and fairly hast thou won it, I bow. What may be thy
name, and whence comest thou?"

"Men do call me Jock o' Teviotdale, and thence am I come," said the
stranger.

"Then, by Our Lady, Jock, thou art the fairest archer that e'er mine