Chapter 22. What the Searchers Found

26 September, just past mid-day

Paladin might have fretted at the time all this was taking, were he not seriously disturbed over the implications that were staring him in the face. Finding Men, in the Shire, was not all that unusual an occurrence. Certainly Men were not common, and of course they were discouraged from settling in this land granted the hobbits by a long-dead King (well, there were a few that Paladin knew about, a very few, including a family of woodcutters who paid in wood and labour to live on land owned by the Tooks) – but they did travel through. After all, one of the duties of the Thain was to keep the roads for the King, and so far as keeping the roads went, Thains had done it, even long after there were no more Kings to keep the roads for.

These Men, though, had hardly kept to the roads in their wanderings. And they'd had something to do with Ferdi and Tolly being found sleeping under suspicious circumstances, atop this great hill that the farmer and shirriff's party were skirting.

No, he was seriously disturbed.

It was bad enough, to be called from the fields in the middle of haying, on such a fine day, and Pippin gone as well, to support his older cousin in removing to the Wilds of Buckland. Paladin's frown intensified. He'd offered Frodo a place on the farm – why remove to Buckland? Why not stay in the heart of the Shire? He shook his head, for that was neither here nor there, and not a part of the business at hand. Nod was perfectly competent to direct the hired hobbits in the haying. Paladin's being pulled away merely reduced the number of hands available to do the work, and the farmer had a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that every stalk of hay would be needed this winter.

A Fell Winter, or a Long one – something ill blew in the sweet-scented autumnal breeze, and here he was, searching for a pair of missing ponies.

Still, the ponies were a part of the mystery surrounding Ferdi and Tolly's mishap, whatever it might have been, and so he did not feel he could simply send Jackdaw out to find them. No, he had a pressing need to see for himself, to put the pieces together, to understand the unknown; in part, he was driven by his responsibility as Thain and chief of the Muster, for the safety of the Shirefolk.

Still, there was nothing to call a Muster about. A pair of missing ponies?

Daw had insisted that they descend by an easier trail than the one the hunters had taken. After all, they'd already scoured the ground around the base of the great hill, before ascending, and had found no indications leading away in another direction. They had not followed the side-branching trail that led southward, passing under the overhang, when they'd first reached the hill, for the only tracks there were those of horses, coming from the south. Horses, not ponies. Coming, and not going back again. Passing through?

Interestingly, the tracking party discerned that several horses had descended by the same path. After all this business was over, he'd half a mind to send Daw on the track of those horses, to see where they'd gone after descending the hill. But first things must come first.

At last they reached the south-branching track. Daw, in the lead, held up his hand to stop them, and swung down from his saddle. He pointed, and Paladin craned to see.

'There,' Daw said. 'Clear marks of horses, as we saw before, coming from the South.' He began to walk, leading his pony, and the others followed at a slow pace.

The Sun smiled down from the deep blue of the autumnal sky. The day had grown warm, enough for the riders to shed their cloaks and jackets and roll up their shirtsleeves. Paladin was thankful for the gentle breeze that stirred the grasses on the hillside above them, making the wildflowers nod their heads. It would be a beautiful day for a picnic, or a walking party – and Paladin thought of the walkers, Pippin and Frodo and that gardener-fellow, who ought to be reaching Crickhollow sometime soon if not already. If Pip did not stay overlong, helping Frodo to settle in at Crickhollow, he and Merry would have fine weather for the tramp back again.

At the thought of a picnic, he dug a sausage roll from the supplies he carried, and followed it with a hand pie filled with chopped apples – ah, the apples of this year's picking had even a sweeter flavour than he remembered from previous years. The harvest was a good one... so why did he feel such urgency at getting in as much as possible, as soon as possible?

The food, good and satisfying as it had been, sat uneasily in his stomach some time later, when a puff of the southerly breeze carried a sudden discordant note, a hint of a taint, faint, yet growing stronger as they progressed.

Paladin urged his pony to the head of the group that was pacing slowly behind the Shirriff – Daw looked up and stopped, on seeing him – and dismounted.

'No sign of the ponies,' the Shirriff said.

'No hoofprints, perhaps,' Paladin said. 'But what about...?' He raised his face to the breeze, sniffing to catch that elusive taint against the backdrop of sun-warmed grass and heather.

Daw shrugged. 'Could be almost anything,' he said. 'A dead rabbit, perhaps...'

'Or a dead pony, or two,' Paladin said heavily. 'You said yourself, there were signs that something went over...'

'I don't like to bake bread before it's risen,' Daw said. 'Something might've gone over, and the ponies went up, but not down, at least not by any path that we've found... But it's a big world, Dinny, and I've been surprised more'n once, when I've made an assumption. I like to see with my own eyes...' He shook his head, and one corner of his mouth rose in a wry half-smile. 'You know what they say about assuming things... When you assume, you're likely to make an “ass” of “u” and “me”.' Though the Shirriff was hardly a well-lettered fellow, he had, in his youth, enjoyed listening to old Bilbo Baggins on that hobbit's visits to the Spotted Duck in Tuckborough, and still quoted some of the old fellow's witticisms, years after his disappearance.

The farmer could not argue with this sound wisdom, but for the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He kept his feelings to himself, however, and simply paced alongside the Shirriff, leading his pony.

The hint of corruption grew stronger as they progressed, however, and then they saw a circling of carrion birds in the air ahead of them, and the hillside loomed steep and rocky to the side of the trail, bathed in sunlight, and Paladin knew without a doubt, though he could not have told how he knew, exactly what lay at the end of their search, and his earlier foreboding returned.

...only to intensify, when they reached the spot, and stared down at the pitiful remains, the broken bodies that had been Ferdi's pride, two of his best ponies of this year's crop, nearly ready for the autumn pony sale, beautifully trained and in perfect condition. Well, they had been in perfect condition. Paladin swallowed down sickness, made worse by the retching of the younger hobbits of the party, Daw's nephews, who'd had to turn aside on seeing what remained of Ferdi's ponies.

'Well?' he said gruffly, as Daw arose from his investigations.

'Killed in the fall, and not before, I deem,' Daw said.

'How...?' Paladin began.

'Just how they went over,' Daw interrupted, 'is more than I can say. No hobbles on them, so they weren't set to graze. Bits still in their mouths, saddles not loosened. If I were to make an assumption, I'd say the lads were lucky they weren't astride when the ponies went over the edge... everything points to the ponies having riders, right up to the last moment perhaps...'

'...and then they started a fire, and rolled themselves in their cloaks, and calmly went off to sleep,' Paladin said slowly, and then he shook his head. 'I don't like this,' he said. 'Not one bit, I don't.'

'Not much to like,' Daw said. 'D'you want the harness?'

'It can be cleaned and repaired,' Paladin said, 'unlike the ponies.'

Daw nodded, and directed his helpers to reclaim the bridles, saddles, and pads, then turned back with another question. 'Bury them now? Or shall I bring Ferdi out, that he may see what happened to them, and not just hear about it?'

Paladin shook his head again. 'I wouldn't want to set him back in his recovery,' he said. 'He and Tolly were still sleeping – healing, old Haldi said, and I hope it's th' truth – when we left, and I don't know when he'll waken, or what sort of shape he'll be when he does waken, and I don't like to leave the bodies rotting in the Sun in any event...'

'We'll bury 'em,' Daw said. 'But you might as well get back to your business, Dinny.' He cast an eye on the sky. 'Not too many more fine days for the haying, I'll warrant.'

'Too true,' Paladin agreed, but when he turned away to mount his pony, the Shirriff forestalled him.

'Take Dally, and Lem and Ham with you,' he said, naming his nephews. 'Empty headed youth as they may be, each one's a fair shot with the bow. The rest of us will bury the beasts and follow.'

'Fair shot...?' Paladin said, not following.

The Shirriff shook his head. 'I don't like the thought of you riding out alone, Thain,' he said, emphasizing the title and not addressing Paladin with the usual “Dinny”. 'There's odd things happening, and no mistake.'

Paladin thought of the Shirriff's pronouncement that the ponies ought to have gone over the cliff with riders on their backs, and shivered. 'Odd things, indeed,' he said.

Again he thought of his son, his cousin, and the gardener, and now he blessed the fact that they should be in Buckland by now, and well out of whatever unsettling business had descended on the Tookland. 'Well out of it,' he muttered under his breath, with a thankful nod.

'What was that, Dinny?' Daw said.

'Well said, I said,' Paladin replied. 'It's a good idea of yours. I'll take you up on your escort of archers, Daw, though I doubt they'll be needed, and thank you for your concern.'

'No thanks are due,' Daw said, 'but you're welcome all the same.'