The dust of the highway rose up around them like a
cloud, so that at times Little John and the Tanner could see nothing,
but only hear the rattle of the staves against one another. Thrice Robin
Hood struck the stranger; once upon the arm and twice upon the ribs, and
yet had he warded all the other's blows, only one of which, had it met
its mark, would have laid stout Robin lower in the dust than he had ever
gone before. At last the stranger struck Robin's cudgel so fairly in the
middle that he could hardly hold his staff in his hand; again he struck,
and Robin bent beneath the blow; a third time he struck, and now not
only fairly beat down Robin's guard, but gave him such a rap, also, that
down he tumbled into the dusty road.
"Hold!" cried Robin Hood, when he saw the stranger raising his staff
once more. "I yield me!"
"Hold!" cried Little John, bursting from his cover, with the Tanner at
his heels. "Hold! give over, I say!"
"Nay," answered the stranger quietly, "if there be two more of you, and
each as stout as this good fellow, I am like to have my hands full.
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