Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou (9 page)

Lucky was the first to stretch her webs. “Let's dig for grubs at the edge of the woods.”

“The last time we were in the woods, we had an unpleasant surprise,” Bartleby reminded her.

“We'll just go to the very edge. I see a moldering branch that looks like a promising place to try.”

“All right.” Bartleby followed her to the thicket where Quickfoot had disappeared. There were still a few small, white grubs in the earth under the fallen branch. When they'd eaten all they could find, Lucky Gal headed back to the water.

“I'm going to visit with Baskin and Digger at their log. Do you want to come?”

“No. I want to spend some time with Seezer. I've been gone all morning.” It was funny, Bartleby thought. Before he'd come here, he'd longed to be with other red-ears. And although he did enjoy Lucky Gal's company more than almost anyone's, he didn't always care to be around Baskin and Digger. He'd learned that creatures who weren't at all like him could be much better friends.

Bartleby began to paddle toward the giant willow. It was so broad and bushy, it stood out easily against all the other trees along the bank. Suddenly he stopped swimming and turned back around. “Lucky?” he called. “The next time you're planning to go to the end of the swamp, would you let me know first?”

“Why should I?” Her voice had the teasing note that could be funny—or exasperating. With her rear webs she kicked up a spray of water at him and swam away.

Bartleby was drifting quietly under the willow, dreaming of cool, fast-flowing water. Suddenly he heard Seezer bellow.

“You ssstole my sssunfish!”

Grub swallowed. “Sorry, bro'—I was hungry. Anyway, it wasn't that good. Awfully bony.”

“Why don't you go fish sssomewhere else? This is my ssspot.”

“But I like it here. The sun's too hot.”

“I'll move, I don't mind,” Number Four volunteered. “I'll be back later when the sun goes down.” Slowly undulating his thick-scaled tail, he began swimming away.

“Wait! Where are you going?” Bartleby cried out before he could stop himself.

“To the far end. It might be cooler.”

Bartleby felt a ping of alarm inside. What if Lucky Gal were there? “No—it's not cooler at all. I've already been there.” He tried to sound calm and reasonable. “You should take it easy in this heat.”

Number Four flashed his sharp, crooked teeth. “Thank you for your concern, but I'll be fine.” He kicked his rear feet once and took off.

Seezer flicked his tail at Grub. “There's ssstill not enough ssspace for me here. Find your own tree.” He tried to sink lower in the water. “This ssswamp is becoming a mud puddle. My belly is practically ssscraping the bottom.”

“Maybe your belly is getting too big, bro'.”

Seezer smacked his jaw against the water. “You're the glutton, not me! Now ssscram before you're sssorry.”

Grub opened his jaws, displayed his teeth, and hissed. But he paddled over to rest under a feathery cottonwood that was nearby.

Bartleby pulled his head in. He hated it when the alligators fought. He hated the dry spell. It was ruining everything here.

 

Later, as the sun began to sink in the sky, Bartleby swam back to the water-lettuce patch. It was the time he and Lucky Gal usually hunted mosquitoes. He snapped halfheartedly at a white-winged moth while he waited for her to appear. But though he caught it easily, its wings were so brittle, he could hardly swallow the insect down.

“Quag-quog!
Quag-quog! Hello, Bartleby.” A great white egret landed gracefully on a branch overhead.

“Billy! Where have you been?” Bartleby asked. “I haven't seen you in a long time.”

“Plume and I are staying near the place where the river meets the sea. Food is more plentiful there, though a little too salty.” The egret plucked at a long, unruly tail feather. “I told Plume I would come back here to check our nest. We'd like to return when the dry spell ends.”

Bartleby's head perked up. “When will that be?”

“No one knows. It can be short enough to hatch a chick—or so long, every drop of water dries up.”

All the water, gone! Bartleby's throat felt as if a lump of mud were stuck there. “But what happens to the creatures who live here?”

“Those that survive will find new water places. Already, many are out searching. I saw them scampering, slinking, and skulking as I flew over the woods.” Billy flicked a few dried leaves from his nest, which was a rather messy collection of sticks and grasses. “Well, I'm going to rest now. I've promised Plume I'd return to the marsh early tomorrow. Good night.”

“Good night,” Bartleby replied, although it wasn't really dark yet. Birds like Billy went to sleep early. But Bartleby wasn't tired at all. Besides, he had to talk to Lucky. He wanted to know what she would do if all the water dried up. What if she didn't want to find a new place with him and Seezer? What if she wanted to go somewhere else? He settled down on a small lettuce plant to wait for her.

Night came with the moon and stars, but Lucky didn't appear. Bartleby told himself she had probably discovered something delicious to eat at the far end—a bed of gooey snails or chewy leeches. Or else, she'd stopped to talk with someone she hadn't seen for a while. In the morning, she would come back and brag about what she'd done. He wouldn't mind.

He paddled back to spend the rest of the night under the willow. When he saw Grub dozing beside Seezer, he let out a sigh of relief. He was glad to see they'd ended their spat. But Number Four was nowhere in sight. Maybe the ex-guard gator had decided to remain at the far end of the swamp for the night. What if the hungry gator was the reason Lucky Gal was missing?

“Number Four promised not to harm any of us,” he reminded himself. “Lucky Gal will be fine. If she isn't back when the sun comes up, I'll go to the end of the swamp. I'll ask Seezer to come with me.”

Quietly, he nestled against Seezer's tail and tucked into his shell. He soon fell into a turtle nap full of sharp, jagged teeth and tight, slimy places.

 

He hadn't been sleeping long when he sensed the water stirring. He felt a gentle push as Seezer's tail began to twitch. Bartleby poked his head out. Seezer was stretching his neck. He was tucking his legs back as if he were getting ready to swim. But it was still dark.

“Where are you going?” Bartleby whispered.

“Sssomewhere.”

Bartleby tried to shake the sleep from his limbs. “Should I go with you?”

“No—ssstay here! Go back to sssleep. I ssshall return before morning.”

“But where—?”

“Don't be a sssnoop!” Seezer hissed. He swung his tail hard and went gliding off.

What's going on? Bartleby wondered as he watched his friend swim away. Doesn't Seezer trust me anymore? The dry spell was making everyone act strangely. Some, like Seezer, had grown secretive. Others had turned solitary. And a few had become downright selfish. Bartleby felt as if his dream of finding a true home at last was shriveling into dust.

When the first morning light began glazing the sky, Bartleby swam past the sleeping alligators. Grub opened an eye and closed it again. But Seezer was sleeping so heavily, he didn't wake at all.

“Whatever Seezer did while he was gone last night has made him awfully tired,” Bartleby mused as he paddled toward the circle of cypress trees. But he wouldn't let himself wonder about whether Seezer had gone hunting—or what he'd been hunting for.

As he waited for Lucky Gal at the lettuce patch again, Bartleby watched a water beetle spinning round and round in a small circle. Suddenly he remembered Billy's words about the scampering, skulking, slinking creatures he'd seen prowling the woods. “I shouldn't have wasted any time,” he said, feeling as small and senseless as the beetle. “I should have searched for Lucky last night. She must be in danger. Otherwise, she wouldn't have stayed away so long.” He remembered when she'd found him tangled up in the hairy-root forest. She hadn't waited for daylight—she' d come to his aid right away.

He dove off the lettuce and began swimming. “I'll find her,” he promised himself. “I'll ask Seezer to help. Two pairs of eyes will be better than one.”

But when Bartleby reached the willow, Seezer was still sound asleep. “Seezer?” Bartleby nudged him with his snout.

Seezer flicked his tail. “Ssshhh. Ssstop bothering me.”

“But Lucky Gal is missing, and I was hoping—”

“I sssaid let me sssleep.”

“But I'm worried that she might have gone to—”

“Sssilence! That ssscrappy turtle is no concern of mine. Now ssshut up or ssscram!” Seezer swiveled his head away from Bartleby.

Grub raised his snout and pinned a groggy gaze on Bartleby. “Little bro', don't waste your energy. She'll come back on her own. That gal is too tough for anyone to digest.”

“Forget it! I'll go myself.” Bartleby felt a hard, tight knot beating above his plastron. He didn't need the help of any lazy, big-headed alligators! With sharp, quick strokes he followed the route Lucky Gal had shown him. He passed the oak where the owl lived, and the hollow pine that sheltered the raccoon. He swam without stopping until he got to Digger and Baskin's log. Instead of drifting in the water, it seemed to be stuck in the mud. But the two red-ears weren't out on top. And there was no sign of Lucky Gal.

“Digger? Baskin?” Bartleby stuck his head under the dark, muddy water. “Can you hear me?”

“Why ... are ... you ... here?” Baskin spoke more slowly than ever.

Bartleby swam around the log until he found a hole in its side. He sniffed and gulped. Then he took a peek. Baskin and Digger were huddled inside.

“I'm looking for Lucky Gal,” he told them. “I'm afraid something terrible may have happened to her.”

“She ... must be ... in-waiting—like ... we ... are.” Baskin's voice sounded faint and far away.

“Yes. That's what ... swamp turtles ... do in the ... dry spell,” Digger agreed. “We hide ourselves away and have a good, long sleep.”

“No—she wouldn't do that without telling me first,” Bartleby insisted. “Won't you come out and help me search for her?”

“Not until... the rain . . . comes... again. We are... in-waiting,” Digger said. “You should... go ... in-waiting, too.”

“I can't—not before I find Lucky Gal!”

“Go in-waiting,” Baskin advised. “There is ... nothing else... to ... do.”

“But there must be something,” Bartleby protested. “A turtle is persistent.”

“A bayou turtle... is patient... too,” Baskin drawled. “You're an . . . outsider. You don't . . . understand our . . . ways.” He pulled his head into his shell.

Bartleby's head was lower and his strokes were slower as he paddled away. Maybe he looked like the red-ears here, but he didn't think like them. He'd traveled all the way to the Mighty Mississippi to find others like himself. But he was still an outsider.

As he rounded the bend that led to the far end of the swamp, he wondered if Lucky Gal might really have decided to go in-waiting without telling him. Even though she'd been hatched here, he didn't believe it. She was too independent to act like the others. She was too lively to hide herself away in the mud for more than one night.

But what if there was another reason that Lucky had disappeared?

“Maybe if I'd been braver, Lucky wouldn't have left me,” Bartleby mused. “Maybe she doesn't want to be found.” The troubling thought stuck in his throat like a fishbone. But he kept on swimming anyway. He had to do everything he could to find her.

The water at the far end was so shallow, Bartleby's webs practically brushed the bottom as he paddled. He poked through the water grass, which had become dry and brown. He peered under a lonely lily pad. He looked among a cluster of smooth gray rocks that were rounded like carapaces. But there was no sign of Lucky Gal. The place seemed deserted.

“I'm too late. I've let her down,” he moaned.

He dragged himself up on a soggy old tree trunk that was lying in the water. “Lucky Gal—where are you?” he grunted as loudly as he could.

He listened for a reply, but none came.

“Luckkkyyy!”

Beneath his webs, the tree trunk stirred. Something dropped onto Bartleby's carapace and pinned him down. He looked back. It was the tip of an alligator's tail—with a yellow band at the end.

“Number Four!” he gasped.

A big head lifted out of the water. Two rows of jagged teeth glinted in the sun. “Present! I mean, Bartleby. I—I didn't do it.”

Bartleby's plastron felt as if it were being squeezed in a giant claw. He had to struggle to take a breath. “You didn't do what?” he whispered.

“I can't tell you. It's too terrible.”

“What! What is?”

“You'd have to keep it a secret. If I thought you were going to tell, I'd be very upset. And when I'm upset, I become, er, snappish. Are you sure you want to know?”

Bartleby gulped. “Yes.”

“All right.” Number Four lifted his tail from Bartleby's shell. “I'm so ashamed. I was going to share with the others. Really!”

“You ate her!” Bartleby dove off the gator's back.

“I didn't mean to. Really! But as soon as I got it between my jaws, it wriggled down my throat. Please don't tell Seezer and Grub!”