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A red haze smeared Sam’s vision as he threw himself at Gollum. The haze did not clear when Gollum flailed and screamed for Master. The haze did not clear when Frodo’s hands grabbed him, pulling him back. The haze did not clear when Gollum, no longer under attack, cringed on the rocky ground with pathetic whimpers.
“I heard it from his own mouth!” Sam yelled. “He means to murder us!”
“Never!” Gollum shrieked. “Sméagol wouldn’t hurt a fly!” He clutched at his head, then jerked his hand away and looked at it, and at the tiny streak of blood. Screaming, he pointed a long finger at Sam. “He's a horrid, fat Hobbit who hates Sméagol and makes up nasty lies!”
Sam could not handle Gollum’s attempts to turn him into the enemy. He lunged at Gollum again. “Call me a liar—you’re a liar!”
But Frodo grabbed him once more, holding him back. “Sam! If you scare him off, we’re lost!”
Sam whirled on Frodo. “I don’t care! I can’t do it, Mr. Frodo. I won’t wait around for him to kill us!”
Frodo pulled Sam closer and lowered his voice. “I know, Sam, dear. I know. But think. We can’t do this by ourselves, not without a guide. And he hasn’t made any move to kill us with his own two hands yet.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest.
But Frodo kept talking, speaking firmly. “I know it might come to that, but not yet,” he whispered. “And in the meantime, we need his help if we’re to have any hope of finding Mordor before our food runs out.”
“So we let him lead us straight into some trap?”
Frodo laughed grimly. “What part of these lands isn’t a trap?”
Sam glowered over his shoulder. Gollum was still huddled on the ground by the bare and twisted tree, whimpering dramatically and clutching at himself with bony fingers.
“Sam,” Frodo said softly. He waited until Sam turned back to him to go on. “I know what I’m asking of you. I do. But…it’s not only that we need his guidance.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, not understanding what other reason could possibly exist for keeping Gollum around.
“I told you before: I want to help him. And I know you think he’s beyond help, beyond hope…but I don’t.” Frodo’s voice dropped to something ragged. “I can’t.”
Yes, he’d spoken like that before, and Sam hated it, hated the way Frodo seemed to put himself into the same category as such a wretched creature. “Mr. Frodo—”
“Don’t you understand?” Frodo’s sad eyes drifted over Sam’s shoulder to land on Gollum sniveling behind them. “He’s a victim to the Ring. Not a villain himself. The Ring must be such a relentless voice in his head, telling him to do awful, terrible things…” He shuddered slightly, and now he cast his eyes down at the ground.
Sam wanted to ask what he meant, but restrained himself. He already knew Frodo would not answer. The only explanation Sam could think of for his silence on the topic was that Frodo did not want to burden him. But wasn’t that what Sam was there for? To carry some of the burden?
Frodo lifted his eyes again. “We don’t know how much of Sméagol is still in there, somewhere. We don’t know what acts of kindness might draw him out more. But even if there were nothing left but Gollum, we should still pity him.”
Sam scowled. Like as not, Gollum was listening to this entire conversation and figuring out how to use Mr. Frodo's kindness against him. “All right, but that doesn’t mean we should lie still and let him throttle us.”
“No,” Frodo agreed with a wan smile. “I fell asleep on watch, so it’s my fault. I shall do better.”
Well, no. Mr. Frodo had enough to deal with already. Sam silently resolved to find a way to take longer watches himself, somehow without Frodo realizing.
“Well, then.” Frodo shook himself. “We’re awake anyway, so we may as well be off. Come now.” He extended his hand—not to Gollum, but to Sam.