Gerard asked Denys to lend him a bolt.

"I have often shot with a long bow, but never with one of these!" "Draw thy knife and cut this one out of the cub," said Denys slily.
"Nay, Day, I want a clean one." Denys gave him three out of his quiver.
Gerard strung the bow, and levelled it at a bough that had fallen into the road at some distance.

The power of the instrument surprised him; the short but thick steel bow jarred him to the very heel as it went off, and the swift steel shaft was invisible in its passage; only the dead leaves, with which November had carpeted the narrow road, flew about on the other side of the bough.
"Ye aimed a thought too high," said Denys.
"What a deadly thing! no wonder it is driving out the longbow--to Martin's much discontent." "Ay, lad," said Denys triumphantly, "it gains ground every day, in spite of their laws and their proclamations to keep up the yewen bow, because forsooth their grandsires shot with it, knowing no better.

You see, Gerard, war is not pastime.

Men will shoot at their enemies with the hittingest arm and the killingest, not with the longest and missingest." "Then these new engines I hear of will put both bows down; for these with a pinch of black dust, and a leaden ball, and a child's finger, shall slay you Mars and Goliath, and the Seven Champions." "Pooh! pooh!" said Denys warmly; "petrone nor harquebuss shall ever put down Sir Arbalest.