"It started the summer before last," Mosco began. "When I first started riding Fleet, people at the races would come and ask me if Father and Uncle Lad were renting him out- um- for stud. When I said No they weren't, they asked me if I would. I said No to that too. Then one afternoon after the season was over, I was taking Fleet through his paces by myself in the big field across the way. And Mr. Broadbanks was there. He'd brought along his mare White Flash, and he said he'd pay me well if I left him with the two ponies alone for a half-hour or so--to see if they 'got on well together,' was how he put it. He offered a lot of money, more'n I've ever had in my whole life, Uncle Frodo. Gold!"
"So much gold that you couldn't resist?" said Frodo.
"Well, I began to think Why shouldn't I? What'd be the harm? It wouldn't hurt Fleet, and wouldn't hurt Father nor Uncle Lad either. They've talked about doing the same now that Fleet's about to retire from racing. So I left the ponies and took a walk through Lowgate's orchard. I ate some apples, and when I got back, Mr. Broadbelt and White Flash were gone, and Fleet was there just as I'd left him. I heard later that White Flash was having a foal."
"You've done it since then too?"
The boy nodded. "Once or twice this summer past. I had plenty of pocket money over the winter, but I was specially careful not to spend so much that anybody'd notice and wonder where I got it from. Only Moro knew, and Sandy. There was no way to manage it without them knowing, and I gave them a share."
"You boys left the door unbolted so somebody could get in?" asked Sam.
"No, Mr. Gamgee. I took Fleetfoot out myself." Mosco didn't see the look exchanged by the elder hobbits over his head at this confirmation of Frodo's theory. "I'd walk him out to the lane, then rode him over in the meadow, where we'd meet somebody with a mare. Just like that first time, only now I knew who was to be there waiting. I never stayed to watch," the boy added as if this were a point in his favor. "Mother and Father wouldn't think it fitting. Besides, I saw it once before, some other ponies of Uncle Lad's. I thought it was icky. Sandy says hobbits make babies the same way, but I don't believe him. When I left Fleet I'd go for a walk or go back to the stable, then I'd come back again in an hour or so to take him home. He was always fine. But when I came for him this last time, he wasn't there!"
"You left him with the Longchalks?" Frodo asked incredulously. "Surely you know how Lad mistrusts them?"
"Of course I know. No! I wouldn't do that, Uncle Frodo," Mosco insisted. "It wasn't them. It was Mr. Burdock. He runs a fast filly called Blue Blazes. His farm's the one just on the other side of the big meadow, between us and the Longchalks. If you went over that way today you must've gone past. But I guess they got wind of it."
"You didn't know they'd taken him?"
Mosco shook his head vehemently. "I thought he'd wandered out of the meadow. I thought maybe Mr. Burdock left the gate open when he took Blue Blazes away. So I went to get Moro and Sandy, and we went looking `til it was daybreak. Then we had to go back to the house. We agreed to tell everybody that Fleet'd been taken out of his stall. It was the best we could think to do, and I thought we'd go on looking with the grown-ups to help and we'd find him soon enough. It wasn't 'til Father talked about what'd happen if we didn't find him, I saw the trouble we were in. I wanted to tell him. I tried to but I couldn't, not when he said it wasn't my doing--when it was!" He looked up at Frodo and finished his story quickly. "I went over to Mr. Burdock's. He said he'd left Fleet grazing in the meadow when he took Blue Blazes away. And I went by the Longchalks after that, just to see if they'd seen him. They said they hadn't, but in a nasty kind of way, like they were glad to hear he was missing. They even said I could have a look around if I wanted."
"Did you see a black pony?" asked Frodo.
Mosco nodded. "There was a black pony in the paddock with the others. I never guessed it was Fleet `til I heard your story tonight, Uncle Frodo. I know you won't tell Father. You would've already if you meant to. But you think I ought to?"
Frodo nodded.
"He's going to be angry."
"I expect he will, but perhaps he'll be more understanding now that Fleetfoot is safely home again." While Fleetfoot hadn't been harmed by being introduced to mares in season now and again, Frodo wasn't sure exactly how Milo and Lad would feel about Mosco's activities. He doubted the boys would be allowed to spend their nights unattended in the stables hereafter. Would Milo go so far as to stop the boys from riding? And while their behavior was dubious, Frodo wasn't sure that the owners of the mares had committed a crime. The breeding of animals in the Shire was usually an informal arrangement. Farmers often lent the services of a good bull to cover a neighbor's cow for the asking. All dog owners might ask for was the pick of the litter. The Longchalks had stolen Fleetfoot for the purpose, but could such services themselves really be stolen? Since they were planning to stud Fleetfoot to other racing fanciers in future, Milo and Lad seemed to have no problem seeing their fast pony's progeny racing against the colt they'd bred themselves. All the same, he was sure they would want to know about the other foals Fleet had sired.
He posed these questions to Sam after they'd sent Mosco back to the house. Even though he was an officer of the law, Sam had no idea. It seemed to him more of a nasty piece of trickery than outright theft, except for the Longchalks' taking Fleetfoot; there, he was willing to bring their tricks to the attention of the local shirriff if Lad and Milo wished it.
"Perhaps they will," said Frodo. "Or perhaps not, once they hear what Mosco has to say. We'll see what happens tomorrow."
For form's sake, they returned to the loft to spend the rest of the night. It wasn't as comfortable as their bedroom in the house, but they'd slept in worse places, and the loft had the advantage of privacy. They soon picked up where they'd left off when Mosco had come in, and were not interrupted again. The only sounds to be heard below during the night were the occasional stamp or snort of a sleeping pony.
Fleetfoot appeared at the races the next morning with the white patches of his hide still faintly gray even after several baths. Neither Milo nor Lad attempted to explain this discoloration, nor the miraculously swift healing of the strained fetlock. Fleet showed no signs of lameness when he ran in that day's first race, and won. He was successful in several other races later in the day, and while the crowds were pleased to see him, many were more interested in seeing Candlestick run again after the colt had showed so much promise the day before. Frodo guessed that Mosco hadn't yet told his father the facts behind Fleetfoot's disappearance. Perhaps the boy was waiting for the success of the day to put Milo in a good mood.
Milo was in a very good mood when he returned to Lad and Angelica's home at the end of the day. "Fleet will run out this summer, but I think it will be his last," he told Frodo. "He'll retire to a comfortable life at Lad's farm, and with luck we'll see more foals of his as fast as Candlestick in future."
Frodo reflected that there would be several more foals of Fleetfoot's than Milo was currently anticipating. The races looked to be more interesting once Happ Broadbelt's black-and-white colt was ready to run, or if Mr. Burdock's grey filly produced a fast foal. Even the Longchalks might produce a race-worthy pony in a few years' time.
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