"Allow a scant foot for windage," he muttered to himself. "Ay, that will be it. So!"
As he loosed, the assassin looked behind in time to see the clothyard shaft winging toward him. And so swift was the arrow's flight that before the man could move, whilst his head was still turned, the arrow pierced his back and stood forth a foot beyond his chest. He shrieked once and fell.
"Bravely shot, Ralph," applauded Hugh.
"It might have been worse," admitted Ralph. "'Tis the first time I have shot a man."
"'Twas more than a good shot," returned Hugh, "In this light, too! An the King's Verderers saw you, Ralph, I should not keep you long."
"'Twill take more than the King to pry me away from you, Messer Hugh," replied Ralph simply. "Did that dog stab you?"
"'Tis of no consequence. Come, let us look at him. By his dress he was none of the Greenwood Men."
"Greenwood Men!" exclaimed Ralph. "Yon was no Greenwood Man. He ran like a lumbering bull in the very way I thought he would. We would not have caught one of the Merry Men in that fashion, Messer Hugh."
"He is some landless fellow, mayhap," said Hugh as they rode across the meadow.
When they reached the body, Ralph drew out the arrow and turned it over so that the face was revealed in the dwindling light.