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Book III Chapter 1 The Departure of Boromir
     

     Aragorn sped on up the hill. Every now and again he bent to the
ground. Hobbits go light, and their footprints are not easy even for a
Ranger to read, but not far from the top a spring crossed the path,
and in the wet earth he saw what he was seeking.
     'I read the signs aright,' he said to himself. 'Frodo ran to the
hill-top. I wonder what he saw there? But he returned by the same way,
and went down the hill again.'
     Aragorn hesitated. He desired to go to the high seat himself, hoping
to see there something that would guide him in his perplexities; but
time was pressing. Suddenly he leaped forward, and ran to the summit,
across the great flag-stones, and up the steps. Then sitting in the
high seat he looked out. But the sun seemed darkened, and the world
dim and remote. He turned from the North back again to North, and saw
nothing save the distant hills, unless it were that far away he could
see again a great bird like an eagle high in the air, descending
slowly in wide circles down towards the earth.
     Even as he gazed his quick ears caught sounds in the woodlands below,
on the west side of the River. He stiffened. There were cries, and
among them, to his horror, he could distinguish the harsh voices of
Orcs. Then suddenly with a deep-throated call a great horn blew, and
the blasts of it smote the hills and echoed in the hollows, rising in
a mighty shout above the roaring of the falls.
     'The horn of Boromir!' he cried. 'He is in need!' He sprang down the
steps and away, leaping down the path. 'Alas! An ill fate is on me
this day, and all that I do goes amiss. Where is Sam?'
     As he ran the cries came louder, but fainter now and desperately the
horn was blowing. Fierce and shrill rose the yells of the Orcs, and
suddenly the horn-calls ceased. Aragorn raced down the last slope, but
before he could reach the hill's foot, the sounds died away; and as he
turned to the left and ran towards them they retreated, until at last
he could hear them no more. Drawing his bright sword and crying
Elendil! Elendil! he crashed through the trees.
     A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the
lake he found Boromir. He was sitting with his back to a great tree,
as if he was resting. But Aragorn saw that he was pierced with many
black-feathered arrows; his sword was still in his hand, but it was
broken near the hilt; his horn cloven in two was at his side. Many
Orcs lay slain, piled all about him and at his feet.
     Aragorn knelt beside him. Boromir opened his eyes and strove to speak.
At last slow words came. 'I tried to take the Ring from Frodo ' he
said. 'I am sorry. I have paid.' His glance strayed to his fallen
enemies; twenty at least lay there. 'They have gone: the Halflings:
the Orcs have taken them. I think they are not dead. Orcs bound them.'
He paused and his eyes closed wearily. After a moment he spoke again.
     'Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have
failed.'
     'No!' said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. 'You have