the West and winding up and down, until it faded behind a ridge of dark land to the east. Nothing was moving on it. Following its line eastward with their eyes they saw the Mountains: the nearer foothills were brown and sombre; behind them stood taller shapes of grey, and behind those again were high white peaks glimmering among the clouds.
‘Well, here we are!’ said Merry. ‘And very cheerless and uninviting it looks! There is no water and no shelter. And no sign of Gandalf. But I don’t blame him for not waiting – if he ever came here.’
‘I wonder,’ said Strider, looking round thoughtfully. ‘Even if he was a day or two behind us at Bree, he could have arrived here first. He can ride very swiftly when need presses.’ Suddenly he stooped and looked at the stone on the top of the cairn; it was flatter than the others, and whiter, as if it had escaped the fire. He picked it up and examined it, turning it in his fingers. ‘This has been handled recently,’ he said. ‘What do you think of these marks?’
On the flat under-side Frodo saw some scratches:
‘The stroke on the left might be a G-rune with thin branches,’ said Strider. ‘It might be a sign left by Gandalf, though one cannot be sure. The scratches are fine, and they certainly look fresh. But the marks might mean something quite different, and have nothing to do with us. Rangers use runes, and they come here sometimes.’
‘What could they mean, even if Gandalf made them?’ asked Merry.
‘I should say,’ answered Strider, ‘that they stood for G3, and were a sign that Gandalf was here on October the third: that is three days ago now. It would also show that he was in a hurry and danger was at hand, so that he had no time or did not dare to write anything longer or plainer. If that is so, we must be wary.’
‘I wish we could feel sure that he made the marks, whatever they may mean,’ said Frodo. ‘It would be a great comfort to know that he was on the way, in front of us or behind us.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Strider. ‘For myself, I believe that he was here, and was in danger. There have been scorching flames here; and now the light that we saw three nights ago in the eastern sky comes back to my mind. I guess that he was attacked on this hill-top, but with what result I cannot tell. He is here no longer, and we must now look after ourselves and make our own way to Rivendell, as best we can.’
‘How far is Rivendell?’ asked Merry, gazing round wearily. The world looked wild and wide from Weathertop.
‘I don’t know if the Road has ever been measured in miles beyond the Forsaken Inn, a day’s journey east of Bree,’ answered Strider. ‘Some say it is so far, and some say otherwise. It is a strange road, and folk are glad to reach their journey’s end, whether the time is long or short. But I know how long it would take me on my own feet, with fair weather and no ill fortune: twelve days from here to the Ford of Bruinen, where the Road crosses the Loudwater that runs out of Rivendell. We have at least a fortnight’s journey before us, for I do not think we shall be able to use the Road.’
‘A fortnight!’ said Frodo. ‘A lot may happen in that time.’
‘It may,’ said Strider.
They stood for a while silent on the hill-top, near its southward edge. In that lonely place Frodo for the first time fully realized his homelessness and danger. He wished bitterly that his fortune had left him in the quiet and beloved Shire. He stared down at the hateful Road, leading back westward – to his home. Suddenly he was aware that two black specks were moving slowly along it, going westward; and looking again he saw that three others were creeping eastward to meet them. He gave a cry and clutched Strider’s arm.
‘Look,’ he said, pointing downwards.
At once Strider flung himself on the ground behind the ruined circle, pulling Frodo down beside him. Merry threw himself alongside.
‘What is it?’ he whispered.
‘I do not know, but I fear the worst,’ answered Strider.
Slowly they crawled up to the edge of the ring again, and peered through a cleft between two jagged stones. The light was no longer bright, for the clear morning had faded, and clouds creeping out of the East had now overtaken the sun, as it began to go down. They could all see the black specks, but neither Frodo nor Merry could make out their shapes for certain; yet something told them that there, far below, were Black Riders assembling on the Road beyond the foot of the hill.
‘Yes,’ said Strider, whose keener sight left him in no doubt. ‘The enemy is here!’
Hastily they crept away and slipped down the north side of the hill to find their companions.
Sam and Peregrin had not been idle. They had explored the small dell and the surrounding slopes. Not far away they found a spring of clear water in the hillside, and near it footprints not more than a day or two old. In the dell itself they found recent traces of a fire, and other signs of a hasty camp. There were some fallen rocks on the edge of the dell nearest to the hill. Behind them Sam came upon a small store of firewood neatly stacked.
‘I wonder if old Gandalf has been here,’ he said to Pippin. ‘Whoever it was put this stuff here meant to come back it seems.’
Strider was greatly interested in these discoveries. ‘I wish I had waited and explored the ground down here myself,’ he said, hurrying off to the spring to examine the footprints.
‘It is just as I feared,’ he said, when he came back. ‘Sam and Pippin have trampled the soft ground, and the marks are spoilt or confused. Rangers have been here lately. It is they who left the firewood behind. But there are also several newer tracks that were not made by Rangers. At least one set was made, only a day or two ago, by heavy boots. At least one. I cannot now be certain, but I think there were many booted feet.’ He paused and stood in anxious thought.
Each of the hobbits saw in his mind a vision of the cloaked and booted Riders. If the horsemen had already found the dell, the sooner Strider led them somewhere else the better. Sam viewed the hollow with great dislike, now that he had heard news of their enemies on the Road, only a few miles away.
‘Hadn’t we better clear out quick, Mr. Strider?’ he asked impatiently. ‘It is getting late, and I don’t like this hole: it makes my heart sink somehow.’
‘Yes, we certainly must decide what to do at once,’ answered Strider, looking up and considering the time and the weather. ‘Well, Sam,’ he said at last, ‘I do not like this place either; but I cannot think of anywhere better that we could reach before nightfall. At least we are out of sight for the moment, and if we moved we should be much more likely to be seen by spies. All we could do would be to go right out of our way back north on this side of the line of hills, where the land is all much the same as it is here. The Road is watched, but we should have to cross it, if we tried to take cover in the thickets away to the south. On the north side of the Road beyond the hills the country is bare and flat for miles.’
‘Can the Riders see?’ asked Merry. ‘I mean, they seem usually to have used their noses rather than their eyes, smelling for us, if smelling is the right word, at least in the daylight. But you made us lie down flat when you saw them down below; and now you talk of being seen, if we move.’
‘I was too careless on the hill-top,’ answered Strider. ‘I was very anxious to find some sign of Gandalf; but
