Then the Tinker spat upon his hands and, grasping his staff, came straight at the other.

He struck two or three blows, but soon found that he had met his match, for Robin warded and parried all of them, and, before the Tinker thought, he gave him a rap upon the ribs in return.

At this Robin laughed aloud, and the Tinker grew more angry than ever, and smote again with all his might and main.

Again Robin warded two of the strokes, but at the third, his staff broke beneath the mighty blows of the Tinker.

"Now, ill betide thee, traitor staff," cried Robin, as it fell from his hands; "a foul stick art thou to serve me thus in mine hour of need." "Now yield thee," quoth the Tinker, "for thou art my captive; and if thou do not, I will beat thy pate to a pudding." To this Robin Hood made no answer, but, clapping his horn to his lips, he blew three blasts, loud and clear.
"Ay," quoth the Tinker, "blow thou mayest, but go thou must with me to Nottingham Town, for the Sheriff would fain see thee there.