Milo, Lad, and Pippin stayed on after the last long races to see Myrtle Broombindle run another pony through the jumping course laid out at the southern end of the field. Frodo and Sam saw Moro and Candlestick back to Lad's home; Moro was heartened by his successes that day, but not as happy as a boy in his position ought to be. He was still worried about Fleetfoot.
When they reached the house, the boy took the pony into the stables. Sam and Frodo went up to the house to find Angelica and her mother there, returned from the annual crafts fair that the ladies of Michel Delving held in town for those not interested in pony racing; in normal circumstances, Frodo would have joined them today and acted as judge in some of the competitions. The two ladies were just sitting down to tea with Angelica's children and the forlorn Mosco, who was being plied with sugar cakes and cream buns in an effort to lift his spirits. All were pleased to hear that Candlestick had done so well. Once they had delivered this news--and Sam had taken a couple of cakes for himself--he and Frodo went out again with assurances that they would be back in time for supper.
Frodo wanted first to have a look at the broad field Lad had mentioned on the other side of the lane from the stables. It was broad indeed--more than a mile from end to end, and nearly as wide--bounded by tall hedges and dry stone walls, with groves of young trees here and there, and tall buttercups rising from the well-trampled grass. Mosco and Moro raced the ponies against each other here. If anyone had brought Fleetfoot through this meadow the night before last, any trace of it was lost amid the melee of older hoof-prints.
They walked across to the far end, and found a gate which opened onto another hedgerowed lane. From there, it was not far to the front gate of Mr. Burdock's farm. In the paddock was a slate-gray mare that Sam identified as Blue Blazes; he had seen her run on other occasions. An ostler came out to greet them while they were looking at Blue Blazes and, in answer to Frodo's questions, informed them that Mr. Burdock was still out, and gave them directions to the Longchalk farm "up t' way."
"What're you going to do?" Sam asked him as they went northward along the lane.
"Look around, that's all," Frodo answered. "If Fleetfoot is on their property, there are only so many places they can hide him--if he's not in the stable, then a barn or toolshed or other outbuilding. I doubt they'd bring him into their house. We must peek into as many places as we can before they come home." He looked skyward, at the dark clouds gathering. "I don't imagine anyone will linger on the fairfields for very much longer--it looks like rain."
Following the ostler's directions, they turned up another lane. To one side was a pasture--belonging to Mr. Burdock, the Longchalks, or someone else, Frodo didn't know. It was occupied by a single sooty-black pony, which lifted its head from grazing and nickered as Sam and Frodo went past. There was a distinct smell of ash in the air. "It smells like they've been burning something," said Sam, wrinkling his nose.
Half a mile farther along, they came to the Longchalk's farmhouse. No one was in sight and, instead of going up to the front door and knocking like expected visitors, they went around to the barns and stables and were about to climb over a fence, when a voice called out. "Here, you! What're you doing there?"
It was Urgo Longchalk, coming out of the stable.
"We were just looking about for someone," said Frodo, taking his foot down off the lowest rail of the fence. "It didn't look as if anyone were at home."
"Father's in town, and my brothers are still at the races. I only just came home myself," Urgo told them as he came closer. "I know you, don't I? You're that detective cousin of Milo Burrows. I saw you on the fairfields today with him."
"Frodo Baggins, at your service," Frodo said with perfunctory courtesy.
"Yes, and your shirriff friend from Hobbiton." Urgo looked from one to the other. "I remember you. We met over that business with Lad Whitfoot a couple of years ago."
"When you and your brothers was blackmailing Lad," Sam said. "You were saying he was a cheat, when he wasn't at all, and you knew it. You wanted him to give you money to keep quiet about it."
"But that was ages ago, and we haven't had dealings with Lad since," Urgo responded. "What brings you here now? It's not over Fleetfoot, is it?" He laughed. "It is! Their precious pony's gone missing, and they've set their detective cousin into looking for him! We knew Milo was lying about that fetlock. That's not why Fleetfoot wasn't at the races today. He hasn't pulled up lame! He's gone, and you've got it into your head that we have him here."
"Don't you?" Sam demanded.
Frodo placed a hand on his friend's arm to forestall any fights. "If you do know where Fleetfoot is, Mr. Longchalk, it's best to tell us now. Mr Gamgee is not here as an officer of the law--not yet. I'm sure you know that stealing a pony is serious business. Your father wouldn't want to hear that his sons have been arrested as pony-thieves."
"We didn't steal him!" Urgo insisted. "We've never been near Lad's place. If precious Fleetfoot got out of his stall and was wandering about the fields at night, it wasn't our doing. We had no part in it. He isn't here." He smiled rather smugly. "Come in and look about all you like. There's no ponies `cept the ones who should be here."
At this invitation, Frodo climbed over the fence and had a look around the stable. There were several cart and riding ponies within, none resembling Fleetfoot. A barrel of soot lay tipped just outside the stable's paddock door; hoof-prints suggested that at least one pony had trodden through it, and there were some sooty smears on the back and flanks of a lone mare in the paddock. To Sam, none of this seemed significant, but Frodo was smiling.
"I think we've seen enough, Sam."
"But we haven't found Fleetfoot!" Sam turned in the direction of the barn. "Aren't you going to look in there?"
Frodo shook his head. "Fleet isn't here. Come along!"
Rain began to fall as they walked back down the lane. When they reached the same pasture they'd gone by on their way to the Longchalk farm, Frodo stopped to look again at the sooty-black pony. Its coat was oddly streaked by the rain.
He climbed over the gate to enter the field and approached the pony carefully, not wishing to startle it. Once he was close enough, he held out his hand. The pony did not shy from him, but lifted its nose into his palm, snorted, and mumbled his sleeve before trying to get at his jacket pocket. Frodo stroked the animal's head, then looked down at his hand. Then, to Sam's astonishment, he gripped the pony's mane gently and leapt up to mount it.
"Open the gate, Sam!" Frodo called out to his friend, and nudged the pony with his heels, urging it forward.
"You're stealing their pony?" Sam asked, horrified.
"Not at all. I'm stealing Fleetfoot back," Frodo explained as he rode through the gate Sam held open for him. He lifted his hand to show Sam that the palm was covered with soot.
Site Info
We are the home of 1292 authors from among our 2552 members. There have been 2904 reviews written about our 3820 stories consisting of 10734 chapters and 29400445 words. A special welcome to our newest member, Rosamundeb.Categories
Skin Change
Donate
Help us keep one of the oldest running LotR archives available to all. Even the smallest donation helps!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
Many thanks to our previous donors!
