“Who shot it?”
“Mad Hugh and I.”
“Where did you get the load of hay from?”
“Oh, a farmer’s boy was driving it into town. We knocked him down, then tied him to a tree. It didn’t hurt him much, and we left him a walnut for his supper. Then Hugh put on his smock and other ragtags, and hiding the deer under the hay, drove it straight to the door, and Magog, who loves the smell of venison, took it in, but we made him buy the bulk of the carcase.”
“How much did he give?”
“A rose noble, and a good pie out of the animal into the bargain.”
“And what did you do with the cart?”
“Hugh put on the smock again, and drove it outside the northern gate, past ‘Perilous Hall,’ then gave the horse a cut or two of the whip, and left it to find its way home to Woodstock if it could.”
“A good thing you are here with your necks only their natural length. The king’s forester would have hung you all three.”
“Only he couldn’t catch us. We have led him many a dance before now.”