Thus they strove for an hour or more, pausing every now and then to rest, at which times each looked at the other with wonder, and thought that never had he seen so stout a fellow; then once again they would go at it more fiercely than ever.

Yet in all this time neither had harmed the other nor caused his blood to flow.

At last merry Robin cried, "Hold thy hand, good friend!" whereupon both lowered their swords.
"Now I crave a boon ere we begin again," quoth Robin, wiping the sweat from his brow; for they had striven so long that he began to think that it would be an ill-done thing either to be smitten himself or to smite so stout and brave a fellow.
"What wouldst thou have of me ?" asked the Friar.
"Only this," quoth Robin; "that thou wilt let me blow thrice upon my bugle horn." The Friar bent his brows and looked shrewdly at Robin Hood.

"Now I do verily think that thou hast some cunning trick in this," quoth he.

"Ne'ertheless, I fear thee not, and will let thee have thy wish, providing thou wilt also let me blow thrice upon this little whistle." "With all my heart," quoth Robin, "so, here goes for one." So saying, he raised his silver horn to his lips and blew thrice upon it, clear and high.
Meantime, the Friar stood watching keenly for what might come to pass, holding in his fingers the while a pretty silver whistle, such as knights use for calling their hawks back to their wrists, which whistle always hung at his girdle along with his rosary.
Scarcely had the echo of the last note of Robin's bugle come winding back from across the river, when four tall men in Lincoln green came running around the bend of the road, each with a bow in his hand and an arrow ready nocked upon the string.
"Ha! Is it thus, thou traitor knave!" cried the Friar.