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the prick, fairly split by the outlaw’s last arrow, fell cleanly in two!
    ‘That was a shot worthy of Robin Hood himself!’ he exclaimed warmly, and turned to stare at his companion with a new attention; but Robin was unstringing his bow and seemed unconscious of his questioning look.
    ‘Why, you’re no mean archer yourself,’ Robin said at last. ‘We are both of us marksmen, you and I, and surely we should be friends also. Will you not tell me your name?’
    The stranger was still watching his face very closely as he replied: ‘My name is Gamwell, and I was born and bred close to York.’
    ‘And what do you do here in Barnesdale Forest, Gamwell? And why do you shoot the king’s deer? For by the look of you I judge that you are no poor man’s son.’
    ‘I am no poor man’s son,’ answered Gamwell; ‘for my father owns broad acres between York and Fountains Dale. But I slew my father’s steward. I questioned the justice of his dealings with certain of the villeins, and we came to blows. I did not mean to kill him, but be that as it may, he is dead, and I have come to the Greenwood as my cousin Robert of Locksley came before me—and I shoot the king’s deer because I am hungry.’
    Robin had stood very still while the other was speaking, watching him quietly yet eagerly. ‘Are you cousin to Robert of Locksley, then?’
    ‘My mother was his mother’s sister.’
    For a moment Robin did not answer, then said he: ‘Robert of Locksley died on the day he was proclaimed wolfshead; but your cousin, Robin of Barnesdale, bids you very welcome to the Greenwood!’
    ‘I guessed it!’ cried young Gamwell. ‘I guessed it when your arrow split the wand,’ and he thrust out his hand, which Robin took in a hard grip. For an instant the cousins looked at each other joyously above their clasped hands; and then said Robin: ‘This morning I shot an arrow in the air and followed it to seek adventure—and behold, I have found my cousin!’
    ‘And your cousin is very glad that you have found him,’ laughed Gamwell.
    Robin gave his hand a final tightening grip that all but crushed his fingers to a pulp, and released him, saying: ‘Now let us find your shafts and mine, for well-balanced arrows have their worth in the wilderness.’
    They moved off through the bracken, seeking the buried shafts; the last one Robin drew from the breast of the fallen doe. ‘I will send two of my lads with agame-stretcher for the carcass,’ he said a moment later as he rejoined his cousin; and the two of them strode off together in the direction of the outlaws’ camp.
    They were still some distance from it when they beheld Little John seated on a fallen tree trunk with his bow across his knees—always when the little band was away from the security of the Stane Ley or the caves of Dunwold Scar a constant watch was kept on the approaches to the camp, and to-day it was Little John’s turn. He feigned to be much overcome by the brilliance of the stranger’s garments, shielding his eyes from their glory as though quite dazzled.
    Gamwell flushed almost as scarlet as his stockings, under this pleasantry, but stood his ground manfully, until Robin cried out, laughing: ‘John, John! Cease plaguing the lad! He is cousin to me, and the only one I have, save for my cousin Ursula, who has been a nun in Kirklees Nunnery these five years and more. Make him welcome, John, for he is a new comrade of yours.’
    ‘Why, if he is kinsman to you, he is friend to me,’ said Little John; and he dealt Gamwell an open-palmed blow on the back that made him stagger. ‘Now I come to look at you, you have the look of a good fighting man, despite your hose!’ he admitted handsomely. ‘What is your name, good lad?’
    Gamwell told him, and the huge outlaw shook his head. ‘No no, Gamwell will never do!’ he considered, remembering his own rebaptism. His gaze dropped to the stranger’s legs in search of inspiration, and across his face spread a broad smile.