"If I can," answered Rand, taking position in front of the target.
"As good Hubert said: 'A man can but do his best.'"
Drawing back his bow to the full length of the arrow, with a quick glance at the target, he let fly the arrow, which whistled through the air and struck fair on the outer edge of the bull's-eye.
"A rare good shot, Master Locksley," said a laughing voice, and
Rand turned to meet a frank-faced lad of his own age in the Scout
uniform, who wore a first class scout's badge, and who gave the
Scout salute as he stepped forward.
"Cans't thou mend it, brave yeoman," replied Rand in the language of Robin Hood's day, in which the other had spoken, returning the salute.
"I doubt it much," returned the newcomer, taking the bow which Rand had offered and stretching it the length of his arm. "A good bow and worthy of your skill. With your permission I will essay a shot."
"Rather we crave the favor," answered Rand, extending his quiver to the stranger, who carefully selecting an arrow, fitted it to the bow. Then drawing the bow back the full length of the arrow he measured the distance with his eye, and, loosing the string, the arrow sped straight to the center of the bull's-eye.
With one accord the boys put their bugles to their lips and sounded the Scout salute.
"By my faith," cried Rand, in generous admiration of the other's skill, "'twas a noble shot and well placed. You might be the bold Robin himself returned."
"It was but a chance shot that I might not be able to repeat," returned the other modestly. "But I was a member of an archery club in our place and that brings me to my errand here. You are Randolph Peyton, leader of the Uncas Patrol, if I am not mistaken. I was told in the town that I would find you here."
"That is my name," replied Rand.