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the _éored_ in which they were riding。 He and all his men ignored Merry and pretended not to hear
if he spoke。 He might have been just another bag that Dernhelm was carrying。 Dernhelm was no
fort： he never spoke to anyone。 Merry felt small； unwanted； and lonely。 Now the time was
anxious； and the host was in peril。 They were less than a day's ride from the out…walls of Minas
Tirith that encircled the townlands。 Scouts had been sent ahead。 Some had not returned。 Others
hastening back had reported that the road was held in force against them。 A host of the enemy was
encamped upon it； three miles west of Amon D？n； and some strength of men was already thrusting
along the road and was no more than three leagues away。 Orcs were roving in the hills and woods
along the roadside。 The king and éomer held council in the watches of the night。
Merry wanted somebody to talk to； and he thought of Pippin。 But that only increased his
restlessness。 Poor Pippin； shut up in the great city of stone； lonely and afraid。 Merry wished he was
a tall Rider like éomer and could blow a horn or something and go galloping to his rescue。 He sat
up； listening to the drums that were beating again； now nearer at hand。 Presently he heard voices
speaking low； and he saw dim half…shrouded lanterns passing through the trees。 Men nearby began
to move uncertainly in the dark。
A tall figure loomed up and stumbled over him； cursing the tree…roots。 He recognized the voice
of the Marshal； Elfhelm。
'I am not a tree…root； Sir；' he said； 'nor a bag； but a bruised hobbit。 The least you can do in
amends is to tell me what is afoot。'
'Anything that can keep so in this devil's mirk；' answered Elfhelm。 'But my lord sends word that
we must set ourselves in readiness： orders may e for a sudden move。'
'Is the enemy ing then？' asked Merry anxiously。 'Are those their drums？ I began to think I
was imagining them； as no one else seemed to take any notice of them。'
'Nay； nay；' said Elfhelm； 'the enemy is on the road not in the hills。 You hear the Woses； the Wild
Men of the Woods： thus they talk together from afar。 They still haunt Drúadan Forest； it is said。
Remnants of an older time they be； living few and secretly； wild and wary as the beasts。 They go
not to war with Gondor or the Mark； but now they are troubled by the darkness and the ing of
the orcs： they fear lest the Dark Years be returning； as seems likely enough。 Let us be thankful that
they are not hunting us： for they use poisoned arrows； it is said； and they are woodcrafty beyond
pare。 But they have offered their services to Théoden。 Even now one of their headmen is being
taken to the king。 Yonder go the lights。 So much I have heard but no more。 And now I must busy
myself with my lord's mands。 Pack yourself up； Master Bag！' He vanished into the shadows。
Merry did not like this talk of wild men and poisoned darts； but quite apart from that a great
weight of dread was on him。 Waiting was unbearable。 He longed to know what was going to
happen。 He got up and soon was walking warily in pursuit of the last lantern before it disappeared
among the trees。
Presently he came to an open space where a small tent had been set up for the king under a great
tree。 A large lantern； covered above； was hanging from a bough and cast a pale circle of light below。
There sat Théoden and éomer； and before them on the ground sat a strange squat shape of a man；
gnarled as an old stone； and the hairs of his scanty beard straggled on his lumpy chin like dry moss。
He was short…legged and fat…armed； thick and stumpy； and clad only with grass about his waist。
Merry felt that he had seen him before somewhere； and suddenly he remembered the Púkel…men of
Dunharrow。 Here was one of those old images brought to life； or maybe a creature descended in
true line through endless years from the models used by the forgotten craftsmen long ago。
There was a silence as Merry crept nearer； and then the Wild Man began to speak； in answer to
some question； it seemed。 His voice was deep and guttural； yet to Merry's surprise he spoke the
mon Speech； though in a halting fashion； and uncouth words were mingled with it。
'No； father of Horse…men；' he said； 'we fight not。 Hunt only。 Kill _gorg？n_ in woods； hate orc…
folk。 You hate _gorg？n_ too。 We help as we can。 Wild Men have long ears and long eyes； know all
paths。 Wild Men live here before Stone…houses； before Tall Men e up out of Water。'
'But our need is for aid in battle；' said éomer。 'How will you and your folk help us？'
'Bring news；' said the Wild Man。 'We look out from hills。 We climb big mountain and look
down。 Stone…city is shut。 Fire burns there outside； now inside too。 You wish to e there？ Then
you must be quick。 But _gorg？n_ and men out of far…away；' he waved a short gnarled arm eastward；
'sit on horse…road。 Very many； more than Horse…men。'
'How do you know that？' said éomer。
The old man's flat face and dark eyes showed nothing； but his voice was sullen with displeasure。
'Wild men are wild； free； but not children；' he answered。 'I am great headman； Ghan…buri…Ghan。 I
count many things： stars in sky； leaves on trees； men in the dark。 You have a score of scores
counted ten times and five。 They have more。 Big fight； and who will win？ And many more walk
round walls of Stone…houses。'
'Alas！ he speaks all too shrewdly；' said Théoden。 'And our scouts say that they have cast trenches
and stakes across the road。 We cannot sweep them away in sudden onset。'
'And yet we need great haste；' said éomer。 'Mundburg is on fire！'
'Let Ghan…buri…Ghan finish！' said the Wild Man。 'More than one road he knows。 He will lead
you by road where no pits are； no _gorg？n_ walk； only Wild Men and beasts。 Many paths were
made when Stonehouse…folk were stronger。 They carved hills as hunters carve beast…flesh。 Wild
Men think they ate stone for food。 They went through Drúadan to Rimmon with great wains。 They
go no longer。 Road is forgotten； but not by Wild Men。 Over hill and behind hill it lies still under
grass and tree； there behind Rimmon