he slanting road there was riding a big, burly man, clad in

a tunic of purple velvet and driving a great black horse as hard

as it could gallop. he leaned well over its neck as he rode, and

made a heaving with his shoulders at every bound as though he

were lifting the steed instead of it carrying him. in the rapid

glance alleyne saw that he had white doeskin gloves, a curling

white feather in his flat velvet cap, and a broad gold,

embroidered baldric across his bosom. behind him rode six

others, two and two, clad in sober brown jerkins, with the long

yellow staves of their bows thrusting out from behind their right

shoulders. down the hill they thundered, over the brook and up

to the scene of the contest.

"here is one!" said the leader, springing down from his reeking

horse, and seizing the white rogue by the edge of his jerkin.

"this is one of them. i know him by that devil's touch upon his

brow. where are your cords, peterkin? so! --bind him hand and

foot. his last hour has come. and you, young man, who may you

be?"

"i am a clerk, sir, travelling from beaulieu."

"a clerk!" cried the other. "art from oxenford or from

cambridge? hast thou a letter from the chancellor of thy college

giving thee a permit to beg? let me see thy letter." he had a

stern, square face, with bushy side whiskers and a very

questioning eye.

"i am from beaulieu abbey, and i have no need to beg," said

alleyne, who was all of a tremble now that the ruffle was over.

"the better for thee," the other answered. "dost know who i am?"

"no, sir, i do not."

"i am the law!"--nodding his head solemnly. "i am the law of

england and the mouthpiece of his most gracious and royal

majesty, edward the third."

alleyne louted low to the king's representative. "truly you came

in good time, honored sir," said he. "a moment later and they

would have slain me."

"but there should be another one," cried the man in the purple

coat. "there should be a black man. a shipman with st.

anthony's fire, and a black man who had served him as cook--those

are the pair that we are in chase of."

"the black man fled over to that side," said alleyne, pointing

towards the barrow.

"he could not have gone far, sir bailiff," cried one of the

archers, unslinging his bow. "he is in hiding somewhere, for he

knew well, black paynim as he is, that our horses' four legs

could outstrip his two."

"then we shall have him," said the other. "it shall never be

said, whilst i am bailiff of southampton, that any waster,

riever, draw-latch or murtherer came scathless away from me and

my posse. leave that rogue lying. now stretch out in line, my

merry ones, with arrow on string, and i shall show you such sport

as only the king can give. you on the left, howett, and thomas

of redbridge upon the right. so! beat high and low among the

heather, and a pot of wine to the lucky marksman."

as it chanced, however, the searchers had not far to seek. the

negro had burrowed down into his hiding-place upon the barrow,

where he might have lain snug enough, had it not been for the red

gear upon his head. as he raised himself to look over the

bracken at his enemies, the staring color caught the eye of the

bailiff, who broke into a long screeching whoop and spurred

forward sword in hand. seeing himself discovered, the man rushed

out from his hiding-place, and bounded at the top of his speed

down the line of archers, keeping a good hundred paces to the

front of them. the two who were on either side of alleyne bent

their bows as calmly as though they were shooting at the popinjay

at the village fair.

"seven yards windage, hal," said one, whose hair was streaked

with gray.

"five," replied the other, letting loose his string. alleyne

gave a gulp in his throat, for the yellow streak seemed to pass

through the man; but he still ran forward.

"seven, you jack-fool," growled the first speaker, and his bow

twanged like a harp-string. the black man sprang high up into

the air, and shot out both his arms and his legs, coming down all

a-sprawl among the heather. "right under the blade bone!" quoth

the archer, sauntering forward for his arrow.

"the old hound is the best when all is said," quoth the bailiff

of southampton, as they made back for the roadway. "that means a

quart of the best malmsey in southampton this very night, matthew

atwood. art sure that he is dead?"

"dead as pontius pilate, worshipful sir."

"it is well. now, as to the other knave. there are trees and to

spare over yonder, but we have scarce leisure to make for them.

draw thy sword, thomas of redbridge, and hew me his head from his

shoulders."

"a boon, gracious sir, a boon!" cried the condemned man. what

then?" asked the bailiff.

"i will confess to my crime. it was indeed i and the black co