Chapter 60. Over the River and Through the Wood

It was to have been so easy! Only one guardsman, according to the gossip in the marketplace, and a relatively isolated area, outside the walls of the City, away from the main roadways and the causeway along the Lake. Only one guardsman, to be quickly dispatched with an arrow or two.  Bill was skilled enough with the bow to bring down a moving deer. A guardsman, standing still, undoubtedly bored with his post, should be no trouble at all.

Once the guardsman was taken care of, the hobbits ought to present little or no trouble. One of them carried a bow, but they had the element of surprise on their side, and if he was holding hands with his lady-love as he had, so many times when the Men had spied on their quarry, he might not be so quick to pick up his bow. A swing of the club, and he’d be no bother to them. They could outrun the hobbits, running away, and escape across the jumbled rocks above the falls, for several of the gaps were wide leaps. A Man might jump such a gap, with water rushing below him, but Tom doubted that a hobbit would.

But Bill hadn’t finished the guardsman, half-wit! And that other Halfling had landed a few choice blows before Tom managed to kick him away. Ah well. Every dark cloud had a bright lining: there’d be no need to split the ransom money now. All would be Tom’s. And well earned!

The “extra” hobbit lad, who’d clung to the valuable one as Tom tried to pull him from the tree, hampering Tom from his purpose, was beating on his chest, shouting shrilly. ‘Let go! You let us go, you great bully!’

 ‘I’ll let you go, little rat,’ he snarled. ‘Be assured, I will!’

The ground was rougher, here, and he had to watch his footing. As it was, he stumbled, lost his footing, and instinctively turned to the side to avoid crushing the hobbits he carried, not that he cared one way or the other, but appearances mattered. He looked behind him; yes, one of the hobbits was following. All to the good. He’d reach the River well before his pursuer, leap across the jumbled rocks, turn around long enough to taunt the pursuing hobbit, drop the “extra” child into the swift water, to show the seriousness of his purpose, and skip the rest of the way across the River with the valuable hostage, disappear into the woods, and reach old Annuminas before the first of the guardsmen came to the River.

Once he reached the ruins... there were a thousand hiding places there. A shallow grave would not be marked. A day or two later he’d leave a folded paper on a stand in the crowded marketplace, with instructions where to leave the gold—he’d learned a few tricks along that line as well, to keep from being trapped when retrieving his “just dues”.

He’d live in the lap of luxury until the gold was used up, and then another opportunity would come along. They always did, very conveniently.

***

The ruffian was nearly to the River! Pippin took as deep a breath as he could manage, sighted carefully, and cast his first stone. It hit the Man between the shoulder-blades, causing him to stumble and cry out, but he regained his feet and a few steps later leapt from the bank, across a gap of rushing water, onto a flat stone.

Pippin raised his hand to throw another stone, but lowered it again. If the ruffian fell now... or if he dropped one or both of the young hobbits...

Pippin clenched his fist around the stone, put his head down and began to run just as fast as he was able. He’d leapt wide fissures in Moria, over rushing water. None of the gaps between the tumbled rocks appeared to be half as wide as the widest gap, more than seven feet wide, that he’d hurtled in that benighted place. More sure-footed than the Man, he’d follow over the River and then cast his stones.

***

Jack heard a cry as he reached the Stepping Stones. Looking up—for he was watching his feet on this uneven ground—he saw a man just reaching the opposite bank, carrying something... Jack squinted. Carrying dolls? How absurd!

The man leapt to the stone nearest the bank, coming towards Jack. Well, Jack would have to wait, for there wasn’t room for two to pass on this unconventional crossing. He stood politely waiting, until the thin cries reached him.

Help! Help us! Please!

Farry? Though he hadn’t heard the young hobbit’s voice in months, his heart leaped at the sound. How well he remembered listening to the chatter between the young hobbit and little Rob, all that long and weary way to the campsite where they’d left the hobbits for the last desperate dash to the Bounds of the Shire.

 ‘Farry!’ he called.

The man looked up, startled, and missed his footing. He threw out his arms to catch his balance, and the two doll-like figures flew from his grasp, their shrieks suddenly cut off as the foaming waters claimed them.

 ‘No!’ Jack screamed, hearing an echo from the opposite bank. He raised his eyes to see a hobbit reach the bank and stand rooted in horror just as another half-sized figure topped the rise behind him, shouting in Hilly’s remembered voice.

It seemed as if the man in the middle of the River must catch his balance, even though the rock was slippery. Jack’s hands closed into fists; he’d wait. He’d catch the ruffian, for ruffian he must be, bearing such a burden with hobbits in hot pursuit! He’d catch him, and it didn’t matter what happened to Jack, himself, but he vowed that this man would face the King’s justice for this day’s work!

Or not, as it were. The hobbit at River’s edge drew back his arm and cast something that flew, that struck the ruffian squarely, that overset him just as he was catching his balance and sent him staggering, falling, plunging into the swift water. His head broke the surface just before he was carried over the falls, and gone.

The stone-throwing hobbit covered his face with his hands and fell to his knees. The following hobbit leapt down to the bank and knelt beside him, dropping his bow to encircle him with his arms, both of them bowed in grief.

Jack stiffened as he caught movement at the edge of the falls. What was that? One of the hobbit lads, swept towards the edge, had been able to grab at a rock at the very edge of the falls, and had climbed out of the current. The small figure clung desperately as the water flowed to either side of his uneasy refuge.

 ‘Hold fast!’ Jack shouted. He jerked the bag of mushrooms from his belt, dumping the contents at his feet. The slim silver rope fell atop the heap of hobbit-delights. It had been in the bottom of the sack from the time he'd left the shop before dawn that morning, for Jack always carried the rope with him when he left the City. Never knew when a rope might come in handy, and this particular rope had never failed him in a pinch.