Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou Read online

  “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.

  16

  The Search

  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 jag
ged 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!”

  “Oh, Lucky Gal! Poor, poor Lucky,” Bartleby moaned.

  Number Four blinked his small, muddy eyes. “Did something happen to Lucky Gal?”

  “Happen? You ate her!”

  “Me? Eat Lucky Gal? Never!” The gator sank lower in the water. “I hate to think what Seezer would do if he thought I’d harmed her! No, I ate a tough old catfish that had been hiding in this mud puddle.” Number Four heaved a big, wet sigh. “I know I should have shared it with the others.”

  Bartleby swam up to the gator and stuck his small snout in Number Four’s big one. “I don’t care about that!” he shouted. “I’m looking for Lucky Gal!”

  Number Four paddled backward a bit. “Oh! Well, she didn’t say where she was going.”

  “You saw her?”

  “Er, yes—she passed by here yesterday. She was swimming faster than any turtle I’d ever seen. I called to her, but she didn’t answer.”

  Bartleby paddled around in a circle. “Which way did she go?”

  “I’m not sure. Into the woods I think.”

  The woods? Suddenly Bartleby wasn’t so sure Number Four was telling the truth. “Lucky Gal wouldn’t go there by herself! She’s got too much swamp sense.”

  “I tried to tell her it was dangerous,” Number Four whimpered. “But she was in quite a state. She kept muttering, ‘I must get away! I must get away!’”

  “Away from whom?” Bartleby demanded.

  “I don’t know. I was so frightened I hid in the mud. I didn’t come out until you found me.” Number Four hung his head. “I’m sorry.”

  17

  Seezer’s Secret

  “That red-ear is too ssstubborn for her own good,” Seezer said when Bartleby told him what happened. “Ssshe thinks ssshe is invincible. It’s no sssurprise that ssshe’s in trouble.”

  Bartleby didn’t reply. He climbed onto a lily pad and pulled his head into his shell. There was a hollow feeling above his plastron as big and empty as a sky without stars.

  “Sssweet Ssswampland!” Seezer’s bellow was so loud it made the lily pads sway. “I can’t ssstand to sssee you acting ssso mopey. All right! I’ll keep an eye out for her later when I go hunting. If your friend is ssstill near this ssswamp, I’ll sssend her home. Though ssshe’ll probably sssay to mind my own business.”

  “Thank you,” Bartleby said, but he still didn’t come out of his shell.

  “She’ll turn up, little bro’. Lucky Gal is too smart to get caught,” Grub whispered. He nudged Bartleby’s carapace gently. “You’ll see.”

  On the bank under the willow, Bartleby heard Seezer stirring. He edged his head out of his shell. In the moonlight he could see Seezer stretching his neck and limbs.

  “Seezer? Are you going somewhere? Can I come along?”

  “Sssertainly not. There’s sssomething I must do—alone.”

  “I won’t get in your way. I’ll just look for Lucky Gal. I’ll be quiet.”

  “No! You must ssstay here.”

  “But why? We’ve always helped each other before.”

  “Ssstop nagging! My mission requires that I go sssolo. If I catch you ssspying on me, the consequences will be ssserious.”

  Bartleby didn’t say another word. He just sank down under the water till he hit the muddy bottom. He felt as if a storm were trapped inside his shell. “Seezer isn’t being fair!” he fumed. “He’s using his size to be a bully! I don’t think he likes Lucky Gal. I’m sure he won’t bother to look for her.”

  Against his plastron, he felt the water lapping as Seezer’s tail swept back and forth. He detected the vibrations of Seezer’s feet as the gator climbed out of the water. In his head he counted minnows until he felt it was safe to surface.

  Cautiously, Bartleby peeked above the water. He’d never deceived his friend before. But following Seezer into the woods was the safest way he could think of to search for Lucky Gal. Surely, no Claw, Paw, or Jaw would dare come out while a powerful alligator was about.

  He glanced at Grub and Number Four. Both alligators seemed to be sleeping soundly. Holding his breath, he swam past them with small, quiet strokes. He hoped he would be in time to pick up Seezer’s trail.

  Bartleby’s throat quivered as he entered the woods. He hated being away from water for long. He couldn’t climb a tree, or run fast to escape from danger. But when he heard the whoosh of Seezer’s tail sweeping through the undergrowth, he gathered his courage and hurried forward.

  In the shadowy moonlight, the limbs of trees seemed to reach down as if they were trying to capture him. The long, eerie strands that trailed from them brushed his carapace like phantom fingers. Bartleby hurried away, climbing over the logs and rocks that studded the forest floor. Everywhere he went, he looked for Lucky. She was smart and strong, but could she really survive among the Claw, the Paw, and the Jaw? He was troubled by thoughts of Seezer, too. What was his friend doing here? What kind of secret was he keeping?

  Bartleby was so lost in thought he didn’t notice that the whooshing had stopped. He kept trudging onward until he came to the edge of a small clearing between two enormous trees. There was Seezer, snout pressed to the ground, making snuffling noises. Quickly, Bartleby hid under a thorny bush and watched. Using his powerful tail, the alligator swept the earth of leaves and sticks. Then he began turning in circles while he grunted to himself in a low, steady voice. With his powerful back claws, he tore up the dirt.

  As he watched, Bartleby was overcome by a strange feeling. His webs began to tingle. His plastron buzzed like a hive of bees. He remembered a time in New York when he and Seezer had been searching for traveling water. They’d been exhausted from walking. They were so dry they couldn’t go on. Then it had started to rain long and hard. As the earth beneath their feet turned to mud, Seezer dug a fine hole to collect the water—one wide and deep enough for them to swim in. The next morning, rested and refreshed, they’d been able to continue their journey.

  Suddenly Bartleby understood—Seezer was planning to dig a gator hole! Only, instead of waiting for rain to fill it, he was searching for water under the ground. He was going to save them from the dry spell! Bartleby had to stifle a great grunt of joy. He was so excited, he scratched at the earth with his own small webbed feet.

  But it wasn’t long before Seezer stopped circling. Once more, he pressed his snout to the ground. His short, bowed legs began to shake. In another moment, he collapsed onto his belly. The moan he emitted chilled Bartleby from snout to tail.

  “Ssso dry,” Seezer whispered roughly. “Dry as a ssstone. Again!” Then he closed his eyes.

  “Oh, no!” Bartleby gasped before he could stop himself.

  Seezer opened his eyes. “If sssomeone’s out there, you had better beware!” he hissed.

  Bartleby held his breath. He hadn’t forgotten his friend’s warning. He didn’t think he could bear to face Seezer’s fury if his friend found out he’d been followed.

  “As long as Seezer can still get angry, he’ll be all right,” Bartleby told himself. As quietly as he could, he backed out from under the bush and hurried away from the disappointed gator.


  18

  Ssserious Consequences

  The next night when Seezer headed to the woods again, Bartleby was ready. Feeling a little braver, he followed his friend more closely. Seezer was nearly as quick on land as he was in the water, and Bartleby couldn’t help stumbling, or bumping into rocks and roots, or snapping twigs under his webs as he tramped along. But Seezer was concentrating so hard on his mission that he didn’t seem to notice the noise.

  This time Seezer stopped in a place where many ferns grew. Bartleby hid behind a tangle of kudzu vine and peered through the leaves. Just as he’d done the night before, Seezer circled and sniffed, circled and sniffed. Then he dropped to the ground.

  “Poor Seezer must need a rest. He’s been working too hard,” Bartleby murmured. He was determined not to leave his friend alone in the woods again. Quietly, he settled down to keep watch.

  But as soon as his plastron touched the earth, Bartleby felt a strange sensation. It was so faint, he held his breath to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. Yes—the cool pulsing beneath him was definitely real. It seemed to be calling to him from a deep, dark place.

  Bartleby looked at Seezer again. His eyes were glowing. His head and tail were raised. His mighty chest began to swell. “Sssweet Ssswampland, there’s water under this ground,” the alligator bellowed. His cry was so loud it shook the ground under Bartleby’s webs.

  With his great jaws Seezer began tearing at the ferns that grew in the dark soil. When most of them were gone, he began digging furiously. His claws gouged at it. His jaws chomped. His tail mashed and scraped. Dirt showered everywhere like a sudden storm.

  Behind the kudzu vine, Bartleby could hardly keep still. Though his nails were small, he could dig. With his hard shell, he could push rocks out of the way, too. He longed to help Seezer find the underground water that could fill a new home. But Seezer had warned him not to follow, and Bartleby wasn’t sure his support would be welcomed. Still, as he watched from his hiding place, he couldn’t keep from turning round and round, imagining he was excavating a big, deep hole.