Chapter 23. Needle in a Haystack

Little Farry watched with satisfaction as the first of the dogs fell to Ferdi's first shot, and cheered the deaths of the second and third. He gasped as the fourth arrow missed, but he wasn’t ready for what happened next. He started to shout a warning at Ferdi as the remnant of the pack abandoned their circling and jumping at the tree where he’d taken refuge—he’d heard them baying, fully involved in chasing a rabbit, and he’d climbed the tree to watch events unfurl, only to have the rabbit go to ground near the base of his tree... and then the dogs start to leap at Farry where he sat on a low branch. He’d climbed higher, and then Ferdi had arrived.

He started to shout a warning, but before the words were out of his mouth, Dapple had gone over, on top of Ferdi, and the dogs were tearing at her. The shrieks of the mare were terrible to hear. Farry covered his face, but he couldn’t not look... his next sight was more nightmarish than the last, for Dapple had regained her feet and dogs were jumping at her to bring her down once more, and others were pulling at Ferdi as if he were a rope in a game of “tug”.

He did not want to watch, but he couldn’t look away. Something grey passed swiftly beneath his tree. A fiery stallion it was, bursting into the field in great leaps, trampling underfoot two of the dogs worrying at Dapple before they knew he was upon them, taking in his teeth another hanging from her neck, shaking the dog such that it went limp as it fell. The stallion shrieked a challenge and reared above Ferdibrand, smashing down on the dog at the hobbit's throat. Back broken, the beast rolled away. The stallion whistled another challenge and reared again. This time he came down upon the dog biting at Ferdi’s coat and side. The dog pulling at Ferdi's leg had abandoned his hold and retreated when the throat-worrier was struck down, and now he turned tail and fled yelping, pursued by the wild-eyed stallion.

 ‘Da!’ Farry shouted, finding his voice at last. If Socks were here, his father could not be far behind. ‘Da!’

No answer came, but the stallion turned about and returned to stand protectively over Ferdibrand, head held high and alert, looking in every direction. All the remaining dogs had fled.

Farry slid from branch to branch until he landed on the old stump standing next to the tree that had been his refuge. He started for Ferdi, stumbling in the furrows. As he got closer, the stallion fixed him with a fearsome gaze and stomped his foot threateningly.

 ‘Steady, Socks,’ Farry piped. This was his father’s pony, why, they were old friends. Farry fed him an apple every evening! He moved slowly closer, watching the ears as he’d been taught. Socks must be terribly upset, for the ears went back as he approached.

 ‘Steady, Socks,’ Farry said in as soothing a tone as he could muster. ‘I only want to help him. Please?’ He held out his empty hands, watching the pony warily as he edged closer. Ferdi lay so still, Farry was afraid. He’d never seen Ferdi still before. Even if he sat still his fingers would be moving, creating something. Farry had seen death before, but he still didn’t understand it. Could Ferdi be dead?

 ‘Please,’ he said again, stretching one hand towards the stallion. ‘Please let me help him.’ Suddenly the pony’s head went down and his look softened. Farry moved the few steps to Ferdi and fell to his knees in the dirt. The pony stepped back a pace or two and lowered his head still further, his breath tickling the back of Farry’s neck.

 ‘Ferdi?’ he said, shaking the head of escort. Ferdi’s eyes opened, and the lad nearly cried in relief. ‘Ferdi! O Ferdi!’ He fell forward to hug the tweedy jacket that smelled of leather and ponies and mint, somehow. He felt Ferdi’s arm come up to embrace him weakly and then fall away.

 ‘Ferdi, we’ve got to get home,’ Farry said. ‘What if the dogs come back?’ The head of escort did not respond, seeming not to hear in his dazed condition. ‘Ferdi!’ Farry said desperately. The stallion tossed his head uneasily.

 ‘I’ve got to get help,’ Farry said, though he hadn’t the faintest idea how to go about it. His thoughts returned to his father. Da would know what to do. Da knew everything! He reached for his father’s stallion, but the pony shook its head at him and retreated a step. Farry had never ridden Socks without his father’s firm hold on the bridle.

Dapple caught his eye. She was standing nearby, head drooping, shivering, bleeding from many wounds. ‘We’ve got to get you home too,’ Farry said importantly. He got up. Looking down at the head of escort, he said, ‘Don’t worry, Ferdi. Dapple and I will get help!’ Why, he was just like a character in a story!

He walked over to Dapple and patted her bleeding nose. ‘There-there,’ he soothed, just as he’d heard Old Tom do when he visited the stables. ‘There-there, lass. We’ve got to go home! We have to get help!’

He took the mare’s reins and tugged gently. She stumbled forward a step. ‘That’s it!’ he encouraged. Coaxing and talking cheerily, he led the mare out of the broken ground to the smooth space under the trees. He positioned her next to the old stump. Ferdi was always bragging on how this pony would stand where he put her! Holding his breath, Farry climbed on the stump. Yes, the mare stood!

It was a reach to pull himself up onto the saddle, but Farry managed. He took up the reins as his father had taught him and drummed his heels on the saddle flaps. ‘Home, Dapple,’ he called. ‘Home!’

Truth be told, he wasn’t sure just which way home was, but he was sure the pony would know. He’d heard about ponies returning to the stables without their riders when picnicking hobbits were careless about tying or hobbling them...

Dapple knew the way home, all right, and with a rider on her back who didn’t seem to mind which direction they were going, she had no compunction about turning her face towards the stables and heading there. As a matter of fact, she even broke into a shambling trot once they were past the ploughed ground. ‘That’s it!’ Farry cried encouragement.

Dapple took the shortest route homewards that she could find, trails around rather than over the tall hills surrounding them, and so she bypassed the searchers in the long grass on the hill beyond the Great Smials. Some hobbits of the Great Smials, including the Thain and the remainder of his escort, were searching; others were laying blankets upon the meadow and setting out the picnic, still others were going about their business, hurrying to finish before teatime.

There was general consternation when Farry rode the bloody mare into the yard. Old Tom came up to catch Dapple, though there was no need. She stopped at the trough before the stables and began to suck down quantities of water, with no intention of moving from the spot.

Old Tom grabbed Farry from the saddle. ‘Call the Thain!’ he snapped at the nearest hobbits. ‘He’s on the hilltop! Run!’

 ‘Ferdi’s hurted,’ Farry said, putting his hands on either side of Tom’s face to command his attention. He pulled Tom’s face around to look him in the eye. ‘Ferdi needs help.’

 ‘I can imagine,’ Tom said fervently as stable hobbits hurried to tend to the bleeding mare. ‘Where is he? What’s happened?’

 ‘Dogs,’ Farry said. ‘They tried to eat him and Dapple.’

 ‘You left him?’ Tom said, aghast. What if the dogs returned? Not that little Farry could have done anything, but the thought of Ferdi lying bleeding somewhere, without help...

Diamond ran up to them, taking Farry from Tom and hugging him tight, scolding breathlessly, just as Farry was trying to tell Tom that Socks was guarding Ferdi. The head of stables turned away without hearing the rest of the lad’s tale, shouting for ponies to be saddled and a rescue party to make ready to set out.

 ‘Where is Ferdi?’ he turned back to say.

 ‘By the trees,’ Farry said. ‘By the field.’

 ‘Where?’ Tom demanded. Farry reared back in his mother’s arms, for the intensity in Old Tom’s voice frightened him.

Diamond had taken in the sight of the injured mare, had ascertained that the blood that smeared her son had not come from Farry himself, had grasped the implications of Old Tom’s question. Now she swallowed hard, forced a smile, and said with artificial brightness, ‘Where did you leave Ferdibrand, lovie? Can you tell us how to find him?’

 ‘By the trees!’ Farry repeated in frustration. ‘By the field, over the hill!’

 ‘Pippin’s coming,’ Diamond said, nodding to the figure of the Thain, pelting across the meadow on Socks’ back. ‘He’ll know what to do.’

Farry, however, seeing his father on the grey pony, began to cry hysterically, and it took long moments for them to calm him. Finally, between sobs, they were able to make out something about “Socks” and “Ferdi” but not much more than that.

 ‘I don’t know where he is,’ Tom said. ‘Trees... field... hill... he could be anywhere!’

 ‘Could you show us, Farry-lad?’ Pippin said, taking his son from Diamond.

Gulping back his tears, Farry nodded.

 ‘Good,’ Pippin said. He’d been filled in on what sketchy details they had, and now he mounted Socks once more, putting Farry before him on the saddle. Grim-faced Tooks armed with bows and lances mounted their ponies and fell in behind him.

 ‘All right, Farry,’ Pippin said. ‘Which way?’

They started across the meadow and up the big hill with its tall grass where lately Farry and Goldi had played “hide and you seek me”, only now they were seeking in deadly earnest. Pippin hoped they’d find Ferdi before his time ran out.

After a frustrating half-hour of following a four-year-old’s vague directions, the seekers were back in the yard, and Pippin was calling out orders. All hobbits of the Smials and surrounding town who were able, walked in a spreading fan out of the yard of the Great Smials and into the surrounding hills in a wide search pattern, walking in all directions. Armed hobbits walked amongst the searchers, though Pippin doubted that even wild dogs would attack hobbits appearing in such numbers.

Farry was white-faced and silent. He’d been so sure they were going the same way he’d gone before, but Dapple had come home another way and now all the hills surrounding the Smials looked alike to him. In addition, the Sun was lower in the sky than it had been. Even the shadows looked different.

Pippin gave his young son a hug. ‘Very well, Farry,’ he said. ‘Let us try again. We’ll start on the big hill where you were playing, and try to find our way from there...’