Chapter Eight - The Famous Raider
Under the cover of darkness, the three hobbits left the East Farthing Road and traveled along the lanes that surrounded Paladin's farmland. There was a small grove of walnut trees just before the apple and pear orchards; Pippin instructed his friends to wait among these trees. Merry never intended to stay behind while his young cousin went "hunting" through his father's crops armed only with a sack, though he didn't want to openly oversee Pippin and his plans, either. Frodo watched with trepidation as Pippin disappeared into the pitch dark.
"I don't like this, Merry. Pippin isn't as accomplished as we are."
Merry nodded, straining to peer after Pippin, "I'm inclined to agree. I'm going to follow him; you'll be all right?"
Frodo nodded, "Be careful!"
Merry smiled furtively, "Always, cousin."
As he drew near the familiar whitewashed fence posts, Pippin bent down and slipped through the horizontal slats of the fence. He kept a wary eye on the north gate; that is where the night watchman usually guarded. Paladin didn't keep dogs, but he did employ a field worker to keep watch over the fields at night from the local truants. Pippin never imagined that he would be one of the truants his father wanted to keep out.
Crouching between the rows of grapes, Pippin peered over the edge to better see where the night watchman would be. The watchman wasn't sitting in his usual spot on the market wagon that was always near the gate. No one was stirring about; that was odd. Wait until I tell father!, he thought to himself, The watchman is slacking!
Pippin plucked a grape off of the vine and tasted it. Not ripe enough; he made a face at the sour sensation in his mouth, but swallowed it nonetheless. Further he crawled on his knees, looking about just in case the watchman was indeed doing his duty. At the top of the row of grapes, Pippin peeked around the vines to find no one walking around the area. He got up to his feet, still hunched, he scrambled over six or seven rows to find yet another delicacy; carrots. Poor Pippin was so hungry by now that he pulled up on a handful of green stems and cleaned off as much earth as he could before sinking his teeth into carrot. Not forgetting his cousins, he held the carrot in his mouth as he pulled up on a few more and threw them into the sack. On to the next pillage. The teen was on his way to the tomato vines at the west end of the field when he stepped on something round and firm. Remembering his potato jaunt the other night, Pippin hesitated before stooping to pick up some of these.
Merry, for his part, watched his cousin from the bottom end of the rows. He crawled on his hands and knees just as Pippin was doing at the upper end. He, too, tasted a wickedly sour grape, and promptly spit it out. He followed further as Pippin hurried over to the carrots and then towards the tomatoes. He couldn't help himself as he stuffed a couple carrots into his own trouser pockets. He thought to anticipate his friend's move and meet him at the tomato vines at the far end of the field. There is where he waited for Pippin to arrive and surprise him. But he never came.
Silently Pippin counted, eight, nine, ten....twelve! A full dozen! Surely that's enough! Still munching on the carrot in him mouth, Pippin stood up to move on towards the tomatoes.
"How does it taste?" Bellowed a voice behind him.
Pippin's eyes went up. That didn't sound like Merry! He spun around to face two tall and ominous Shirrifs. He vaguely remembered the elder First Shirrif from many years ago, but the younger, Second Shirrif Pippin didn't recognize at all.
"I--I was only....only..." He didn't know what else to do but run. He ran back towards the grapevines, hoping to make it to the gate. The First Shirrif was quite slow, but the Second Shirrif was on Pippin like a cat; Pippin was not known to be a fast runner. Pippin squirmed under the weight of the Shirrif until he broke free. He flew in the direction of the market wagon to hide; clouds of dust rose up as he landed underneath it. The Second Shirrif wasn't hindered in the least; he slid under the same wagon with great speed, sending larger dust clouds about the area. Out the other side, Pippin gathered himself and ran full speed towards the fence he crawled under. Again, the younger Shirrif was quicker. He tackled the small teenager just shy of the fence.
"Get off me!" Pippin gasped.
"Who are ye?"
"No one! Get off me--you're crushing me!"
"I won't get off 'til ye tell me who ye are!"
Out of breath, Pippin squirmed some more. "No one, I said!"
The elder Shirrif came up and grabbed Pippin by the back of his collar and yanked him up after the younger let off the thief. "Now there'll be no more o'that, ye lit'l thief! Who are ye? Speak!!"
Pippin fell silent. He was not about to get his cousins into trouble. The Mayor and the Shirrifs were not very kind to adult hobbits who went around the Shire raiding farms. Children and Teens were usually forgiven with restitution rendered to the owner and then escorted directly to their parents for further discipline.
"Where's yer helper?" The First Shirrif demanded. Pippin said nothing. "Not in the mood for talkin', eh? Mr. Paladin's strap ought to make ye sing like a robin in spring!" The Shirrifs laughed, trying to scare the boy into talking. Pippin remained silent.
Seeing he wasn't going to get anywhere with the lad, the First Shirrif let go of Pippin's collar and roughly pushed him to the ground. The Second Shirrif grabbed the sack out of Pippin's hands.
"What do we 'ave 'ere? Carrots? And a sack full of Taters!" He smirked. "Get in the cart!" They tied (not too tight) Pippin's wrists to the seat behind them and set off to Tuckborough.
The Second Shirrif turned to face Pippin, "Seems there's a Famous Raider going from The Marish all the way through the South Farthin', and now to Tuckborough here looting all the crops and orchards. Mr. Paladin don't take nice at all to Raiders!" Then he turned back around in his seat to face forward. "Thanks to ye, yer family will be payin' the Thain's heir for ye spoils 'til their dying days!"
"My fa--!" Pippin started then stopped himself. He knew his father wasn't anything like what these Shirrifs played him out to be. Also, they didn't know who they had just picked up, and he would at least let that alone for the sake of his father.
"Yer what?" The younger Shirrif asked.
Pippin said nothing.
"I thought as much. Now keep silent, knave, since that's what ye're good at."