The Hobbit

came.
    They did not dare to follow the river much further towards the Gate; but they went on beyond the end of the southern spur,
     until lying hidden behind a rock they could look out and see the dark cavernous opening in a great cliff-wall between the
     arms of the Mountain. Out of it the waters of the Running River sprang; and out of it too there came a steam and a dark smoke.
     Nothing moved in the waste, save the vapour and the water, and every now and again a black and ominous crow. The only sound
     was the sound of the stony water, and every now and again the harsh croak of a bird. Balin shuddered.
    “Let us return!” he said. “We can do no good here! And I don’t like these dark birds, they look like spies of evil.”

    The Front Gate.
    “The dragon is still alive and in the halls under the Mountain then—or I imagine so from the smoke,” said the hobbit.
    “That does not prove it,” said Balin, “though I don’t doubt you are right. But he might be gone away some time, or he might
     be lying out on the mountain-side keeping watch, and still I expect smokes and steams would come out of the gates: all the
     halls within must be filled with his foul reek.”
    With such gloomy thoughts, followed ever by croaking crows above them, they made their weary way back to the camp. Only in
     June they had been guests in the fair house of Elrond, and though autumn was now crawling towards winter that pleasant time
     now seemed years ago. They were alone in the perilous waste without hope of further help. They were at the end of their journey,
     but as far as ever, it seemed, from the end of their quest. None of them had much spirit left.
    Now strange to say Mr. Baggins had more than the others. He would often borrow Thorin’s map and gaze at it, pondering over
     the runes and the message of the moon-letters Elrond had read. It was he that made the dwarves begin the dangerous search
     on the western slopes for the secret door. They moved their camp then to a long valley, narrower than the great dale in the
     South where the Gates of the river stood, and walled with lower spurs of the Mountain. Two of these here thrust forward west
     from the main mass in long steep-sided ridges that fell ever downwards towards the plain. On this western side there were
     fewer signs of the dragon’s marauding feet, and there was some grass for their ponies. From this western camp, shadowed all day by cliff and wall until the sun began to sink towards
     the forest, day by day they toiled in parties searching for paths up the mountain-side. If the map was true, somewhere high
     above the cliff at the valley’s head must stand the secret door. Day by day they came back to their camp without success.
    But at last unexpectedly they found what they were seeking. Fili and Kili and the hobbit went back one day down the valley
     and scrambled among the tumbled rocks at its southern corner. About midday, creeping behind a great stone that stood alone
     like a pillar, Bilbo came on what looked like rough steps going upwards. Following these excitedly he and the dwarves found
     traces of a narrow track, often lost, often rediscovered, that wandered on to the top of the southern ridge and brought them
     at last to a still narrower ledge, which turned north across the face of the Mountain. Looking down they saw that they were
     at the top of the cliff at the valley’s head and were gazing down on to their own camp below. Silently, clinging to the rocky
     wall on their right, they went in single file along the ledge, till the wall opened and they turned into a little steep-walled
     bay, grassy-floored, still and quiet. Its entrance which they had found could not be seen from below because of the overhang
     of the cliff, nor from further off because it was so small that it looked like a dark crack and no more. It was not a cave
     and was open to the sky above; but at its inner end a flat wall rose up that in the lower part, close to the ground, was as
     smooth and upright as masons’ work, but without a joint or crevice to be seen. No sign was there of post or lintel or threshold, nor any sign of bar or bolt or key-hole; yet they did
     not doubt that they had found the door at last.
    They beat on it, they thrust and pushed at it, they implored it to move, they spoke fragments of broken spells of opening,
     and nothing stirred. At last tired out they rested on the grass at its feet, and then at evening began their long climb down.
    There