that should shoot the best the prize of two fat steers was to belong.
A score of brave shots were gathered there, and among them some of the
keenest hands at the longbow in Lincoln and Nottinghamshire; and among
them Little John stood taller than all the rest. "Who is yon stranger
clad all in scarlet?" said some, and others answered, "It is he that
hath but now so soundly cracked the crown of Eric o' Lincoln." Thus
the people talked among themselves, until at last it reached even the
Sheriff's ears.

And now each man stepped forward and shot in turn; but though each shot
well, Little John was the best of all, for three times he struck the
clout, and once only the length of a barleycorn from the center. "Hey
for the tall archer!" shouted the crowd, and some among them shouted,
"Hey for Reynold Greenleaf!" for this was the name that Little John had
called himself that day.

Then the Sheriff stepped down from the raised seat and came to where
the archers stood, while all doffed their caps that saw him coming. He
looked keenly at Little John but did not know him, though he said, after
a while, "How now, good fellow, methinks there is that about thy face
that I have seen erewhile."

"Mayhap it may be so," quoth Little John, "for often have I seen Your
Worship." And, as he spoke, he looked steadily into the Sheriff's eyes
so that the latter did not suspect who he was.

"A brave blade art thou, good friend," said the Sheriff, "and I hear
that thou hast well upheld the skill of Nottinghamshire against that of
Lincoln this day. What may be thy name, good fellow?"