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‘Well, here goes, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. ‘Good-bye!’

He let go. Frodo followed. And even as they fell they heard the rush of horsemen sweeping over the bridge and the rattle of orc-feet running up behind. But Sam would have laughed, if he had dared. Half fearing a breaking plunge down on to unseen rocks the hobbits landed, in a drop of no more than a dozen feet, with a thud and a crunch into the last thing that they had expected: a tangle of thorny bushes. There Sam lay still, softly sucking a scratched hand.

When the sound of hoof and foot had passed he ventured a whisper. ‘Bless me, Mr. Frodo, but I didn’t know as anything grew in Mordor! But if I had a’known, this is just what I’d have looked for. These thorns must be a foot long by the feel of them; they’ve stuck through everything I’ve got on. Wish I’d a’put that mailshirt on!’

‘Orc-mail doesn’t keep these thorns out,’ said Frodo. ‘Not even a leather jerkin is any good.’

They had a struggle to get out of the thicket. The thorns and briars were as tough as wire and as clinging as claws. Their cloaks were rent and tattered before they broke free at last.

‘Now down we go, Sam,’ Frodo whispered. ‘Down into the valley quick, and then turn northward, as soon as ever we can.’

Day was coming again in the world outside, and far beyond the glooms of Mordor the Sun was climbing over the eastern rim of Middle-earth; but here all was still dark as night. The Mountain smouldered and its fires went out. The glare faded from the cliffs. The easterly wind that had been blowing ever since they left Ithilien now seemed dead. Slowly and painfully they clambered down, groping, stumbling, scrambling among rock and briar and dead wood in the blind shadows, down and down until they could go no further.

At length they stopped, and sat side by side, their backs against a boulder. Both were sweating. ‘If Shagrat himself was to offer me a glass of water, I’d shake his hand,’ said Sam.

‘Don’t say such things!’ said Frodo. ‘It only makes it worse.’ Then he stretched himself out, dizzy and weary, and he spoke no more for a while. At last with a struggle he got up again. To his amazement he found that Sam was asleep. ‘Wake up, Sam!’ he said. ‘Come on! It’s time we made another effort.’

Sam scrambled to his feet. ‘Well I never!’ he said. ‘I must have dropped off. It’s a long time, Mr. Frodo, since I had a proper sleep, and my eyes just closed down on their own.’

Frodo now led the way, northward as near as he could guess, among the stones and boulders lying thick at the bottom of the great ravine. But presently he stopped again.

‘It’s no good, Sam,’ he said. ‘I can’t manage it. This mail-shirt, I mean. Not in my present state. Even my mithril-coat seemed heavy when I was tired. This is far heavier. And what’s the use of it? We shan’t win through by fighting.’

‘But we may have some to do,’ said Sam. ‘And there’s knives and stray arrows. That Gollum isn’t dead, for one thing. I don’t like to think of you with naught but a bit of leather between you and a stab in the dark.’

‘Look here, Sam dear lad,’ said Frodo: ‘I am tired, weary, I haven’t a hope left. But I have to go on trying to get to the Mountain, as long as I can move. The Ring is enough. This extra weight is killing me. It must go. But don’t think I’m ungrateful. I hate to think of the foul work you must have had among the bodies to find it for me.’

‘Don’t talk about it, Mr. Frodo. Bless you! I’d carry you on my back, if I could. Let it go then!’

Frodo laid aside his cloak and took off the orc-mail and flung it away. He shivered a little. ‘What I really need is something warm,’ he said. ‘It’s gone cold, or else I’ve caught a chill.’

‘You can have my cloak, Mr. Frodo,’ said Sam. He unslung his pack and took out the elven-cloak. ‘How’s this, Mr. Frodo?’ he said. ‘You wrap that orc-rag close round you, and put the belt outside it. Then this can go over all. It don’t look quite orc-fashion, but it’ll keep you warmer; and I daresay it’ll keep you from harm better than any other gear. It was made by the Lady.’

Frodo took the cloak