The Return of the Shadow. Christopher Tolkien

day even finer and hotter than the day of Bingo’s birthday, that already seemed quite a long while past. They went down the slope, across the stream, and up the next slope, and by that time their cloaks, blankets, water, food, spare clothes and other gear already seemed a heavy load. The day’s march was going to be something quite different from a country walk.

      After a time the road ceased to roll up and down: it climbed to the top of a steep bank in a tired zigzagging sort of way, and then prepared to go down for the last time. In front of them they saw the lower lands dotted with small clumps of trees that melted away in the distance to a hazy woodland brown. They were looking across the Woody End towards the Brandywine River. The road wound away before them like a piece of string.

      ‘The road goes on for ever,’ said Odo, ‘but I can’t without a rest. It is high time for lunch.’

Frodo sat down on the bank at the side of the road and looked away east into the haze, beyond which lay the River and the end of the Shire in which he had spent all his life. Suddenly he spoke, as if half to himself:

       The Road goes ever on and on

       Down from the door where it began.

       Now far ahead the Road has gone,

       And we must follow if we can,

       Pursuing it with weary feet,

       Until it joins some larger way,

       Where many paths and errands meet.

      And whither then? We cannot say.⁶

      ‘That sounds like a bit of Old Bilbo’s rhyming,’ said Odo. ‘Or is it one of Bingo’s imitations? It does not sound altogether encouraging.’

      ‘No, I made it up, or at any rate it came to me,’ said Frodo.

      ‘I’ve never heard it before, certainly,’ said Bingo. ‘But it reminds me very much of Bilbo in the last years, before he went away. He used often to say that there was only one Road in all the land; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. “It’s a dangerous business, Bingo, going out of your door,” he used to say. “You step into the Road, and if you don’t keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might get swept off to. Do you realize that this is the very path that goes through Mirkwood, and that if you let it, it might take you to even farther and worse places than the Lonely Mountain?” He used to say that on the path outside the front-door at Bag-end, especially after he had been out for a walk.’

      ‘Well, the Road won’t sweep me anywhere for an hour at least,’ said Odo, unslinging his pack. The others followed his example, putting their packs against the bank and their legs out into the road. After a rest they had lunch (a frugal one) and then more rest.

The sun was beginning to get lower and the light of afternoon was on the land as they went down the hill. So far they had not met a soul on the road. This way was not much used, and the ordinary way to Buckland was along the East Road to the meeting of the Water and the Brandywine River, where there was a bridge, and then south along the River. They had been jogging along again for an hour or more, when Frodo stopped a moment as if listening. They were now on level ground, and the road, after much winding, lay straight ahead through grassland sprinkled with tall trees, outliers of the approaching woods.

      ‘I can hear a horse or a pony coming along the road behind,’ said Frodo.

      They looked back, but the turn of the road prevented them from seeing far.

      ‘I think we had better get out of sight,’ said Bingo; ‘or you two at any rate. Of course, it does not matter much, but I have a feeling that I would rather not be seen by anyone just now.’

Odo and Frodo ran quickly to the left, down into a little hollow not far from the road, and lay flat. Bingo slipped on his ring and stepped behind a tree. The sound of hoofs drew nearer. Round the turn came a black horse, no hobbit-pony but a full-sized horse; and on it sat a bundle, or that is what it looked like: a broad squat man, completely wrapped in a great black cloak and hood, so that only his boots in the stirrups showed below: his face was shadowed and invisible.

      When it came on a level with Bingo, the horse stopped. The riding figure sat quite still, as if listening. From inside the hood came a noise as of someone sniffing to catch an elusive scent; the head turned from side to side of the road. At last the horse moved on again, walking slowly at first, and then taking to a gentle trot.

      Bingo slipped to the edge of the road and watched the rider, until he dwindled in the distance. He could not be quite sure, but it seemed to him that suddenly, before they passed out of sight, the horse and rider turned aside and rode into the trees.

      ‘Well, I call that very queer, and even a little disturbing,’ said Bingo to himself, as he walked back to his companions. They had remained flat in the grass, and had seen nothing; so Bingo described to them the rider and his strange behaviour. ‘I can’t say why, but I felt perfectly certain he was looking or smelling for me: and also I felt very clearly that I did not want him to discover me. I’ve never seen or felt anything quite like it in the Shire before.’ ‘But what has one of the Big People got to do with us?’ said Odo. ‘And what is he doing in this part of the world at all? Except for those Men from Dale the other day⁷ I haven’t seen one of that Kind in our Shire for years.’⁸

‘I have though,’ said Frodo, who had listened intently to Bingo’s description of the black rider. ‘It reminds me of something I had almost forgotten. I was walking away up in the North Moor – you know, right up on the northern borders of the Shire – early last spring, when a similar rider met me. He was riding south, and he stopped and spoke, though he did not seem able to speak our language very well; he asked me if I knew where a place called Hobbiton was, and if there were any folk called Baggins there. I thought it very queer at the time; and I had a queer uncomfortable feeling, too. I could not see any face under his hood. I never heard whether he turned up in Hobbiton or not. If I did not tell you, I meant to.’

      ‘You didn’t tell me, and I wish you had,’ said Bingo. ‘I should have asked Gandalf about it; and probably we should have taken more care on the road.’

      ‘Then you know or guess something about the rider?’ said Frodo. ‘What is he?’

‘I don’t know, and I don’t want to guess,’ said Bingo. ‘But somehow I don’t believe either of these riders (if there are two) was really one of the Big People, not one of the kind like Dalemen, I mean. I wish Gandalf was here; but now it will be a long time before we find him. In a way I suppose I ought to be pleased; but I am not quite prepared for adventures yet, and I was not expecting any in our own Shire. Do you two wish to go on with the Journey?’

      ‘Of course!’ said Frodo. ‘I am not going to turn back, not for an army of goblins.’

      ‘I shall go where Uncle Bingo goes,’ said Odo. ‘But what is the next thing to do? Shall we go on at once, or stay here and have some food?⁹ I should like a bite and a sip, but somehow I think we had better move on from here. Your talk of sniffing riders with invisible noses has made me feel quite uncomfortable.’

      ‘I think we will move on now,’ said Bingo; ‘but not on the road, in case that rider comes back, or another one follows him. We ought to do a good step more today; Buckland is still miles away.’

      The shadows of the trees were long and thin on the grass, as they started off again. They now kept a stone’s throw to the left of the road, but