Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou

by Phyllis Shalant

  “You look tired. I’d better let you rest now,” Bartleby said. He was suddenly exhausted himself.

  “Will you sssee Lucky Gal tomorrow?”

  “I don’t know,” Bartleby admitted. “I left her in the woods yesterday. She insisted that she had to be alone.”

  “The woods are full of sssneaks and ssscoundrels—especially at night!”

  “Yes—but I haven’t forgotten the trouble I got in the last time I went snooping,” Bartleby reminded him.

  Seezer closed his eyes. “If I’d had a sssecond chance, I would never have sssent you away.”

  “I need sssunlight. I’m going to the sssurface.”

  Bartleby opened his eyes. He was surprised how long he’d slept. A tiny bit of daylight had already found its way into the cave. “Are you sure you’re well enough?” he asked.

  “To ssswim?” Seezer flicked his tail. “I’m sssure I’m ssstill ssspeedier than you.” Bartleby followed him out of the cave and up toward the surface. But in spite of his boasts, Seezer wasn’t nearly as fast or powerful as he used to be.

  Quag-quog! Quag-quog! “Seezer’s come out of his cave!” Billy announced as Seezer’s head broke through the quiet water. He flew around the pond honking until all the creatures of Friendship Hole gathered on the mud bank.

  “This calls for a celebration,” Big-Big croaked. “We should hold a swamp meet! We can have a croaking contest—”

  “And plenty of eating, bro’.” Grub smacked his jaws.

  “Don’t forget basking,” Digger called from his log.

  “Or storytelling,” Number Four added.

  The other creatures looked at him.

  “I can tell how Bartleby outwitted four alligators in a race.”

  “Where is Lucky Gal?” Quickfoot’s nose twitched as she tested the air.

  Bartleby felt as if a cloud of gnats were beating their wings inside him. He’d been wondering the very same thing. “She got delayed a bit. But she should arrive soon.”

  29

  Lucky Alone

  Lucky Gal emerged from under a pine bough where she’d spent the night. Above her plastron she felt a slow, rhythmic pumping. It was as if her body were saying, Time to lay eggs. She stretched out her limbs and pressed her webs firmly on the ground. To her relief, her three-toed foot no longer hurt. Filled with excitement, she began hurrying through the woods.

  After a while, her sensitive snout detected the scent of water. She opened her mouth and gulped the air to get more information. “There’s a pond close by,” she said to herself. “It must be Friendship Hole. But I’ve got to be nearer to lay my eggs. When they hatch, my babies must be able to reach the water quickly.”

  She trundled over rocks and under shrubs. The bitter-sweet smell of pond water grew stronger. When she got to a tree stump, Lucky Gal pulled herself up and looked around. Ahead in a clearing, she saw the shimmer of water. It was Friendship Hole—she felt sure of it. The pumping feeling inside her grew faster.

  Cautiously, she crept to the edge of the woods. From there, a bank of tall grass rolled down to the pond. “Now to find the perfect spot for a nest,” she murmured. She stopped and dug up a few scoops of dirt. It was loose and sandy beneath her webs. She turned around and dug a bit more.

  “Hmmm, this seems just right,” she mused. “But my eggs will also need sun to keep warm.”

  Lucky Gal looked up. Overhead the sky was bright. “Good. There are no branches to block the light from reaching my nest.”

  She squinted through the golden brown grass toward the pond. “From here, the path to the water is short and easy.”

  The pumping feeling grew so strong it made Lucky grunt. Suddenly she had to dig! Her rear webs began kicking up a shower of sandy soil. She excavated until the hole was about the same size as her plastron. Then she got in and laid eight eggs.

  When she was done, Lucky crawled out of the nest and inspected her clutch. Though she could only see the round, tan shells, she imagined the bright little hatchlings that would develop inside. She might have gone on staring longer, but an anxious feeling told her they would be safer once she covered them up. Tired, but determined, she began packing the earth back over the eggs. She worked until she’d made a secure and sturdy mound.

  “I’ll always be thinking of you,” she whispered. “When you’ve grown strong and lively, I’ll see you in the pond.”

  The afternoon sun was hot and bright as the alligators lined up on the mud bank to bask. Seezer and Grub left a space between them that was just the right size for Bartleby. On the other side of Grub, Number Four was stretched out, sighing as if he’d never been happier.

  It was just what Bartleby had dreamed of when he’d been at Chef Jerry’s. Yet he couldn’t really enjoy it. “I’m a bit hungry. I’m going to dig for worms at the edge of the woods,” he told the others. Trying not to appear hurried, he plodded across the bank until he reached the tall grass. There he stopped and clawed the dirt halfheartedly. He found a plump, sluggish worm and sucked it down his throat.

  When he looked back, the alligators appeared to be napping. Quickly, Bartleby slipped into the grass. He’d waited as long as he could. He had to look for Lucky. He promised himself he wouldn’t ask if he could help build the nest or peek at the eggs. All he wanted was a glimpse of her. If he could just see that she was safe, he’d go back to the pond again.

  But as he pushed through the stiff grass, Bartleby detected an alarming scent. For a moment he stopped to sniff and gulp. His throat filled with the familiar reek of rotten breath and moldy hide. A powerful pulsing above his plastron warned him to turn back-but the need to find Lucky was even stronger. Bartleby plodded on ahead.

  At the edge of the woods the stench grew stronger. Although Bartleby’s webs wanted to hurry, he crept slowly and carefully through the undergrowth. If he snapped a twig, or shook a shrub, the noise could give him away. He wanted to see the beast before it saw him.

  Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

  Bartleby ducked behind a tree.

  “What a delicious surprise—a present on a present,” said a voice that was deep and ominous.

  At the mention of a “present,” Bartleby’s webs quaked. Still, he crept closer and hid under a bush that was dense with leaves. Cautiously, he peeked out. Face-to-face with Old Stump and his three guard gators, Lucky Gal stood her ground atop her neatly rounded mound.

  “I love presents,” crooned Number One.

  “Tangy, chewy ones,” agreed Number Two.

  “And runny, drippy ones,” added Number Three. He sank a claw into the mound that covered the nest.

  “Back off! Those are Old Stump’s presents.” Old Stump snapped his tail across the guard gators’ snouts. The three beasts cringed.

  As he hunkered behind the bush, Bartleby tried to think what to do. He wanted to go for help, but he was afraid Lucky might not be there when he returned.

  “I’m not a present, I’m a red-eared turtle—the toughest one you’ll ever meet,” Lucky Gal snapped. “If you eat me, I’ll give you a stomachache you’ll never forget!”

  “Silly Present! Old Stump isn’t going to eat you—unless you refuse to cooperate.” The slimy giant flashed his snaggleteeth. “We only want to know where your water place is.”

  Bartleby was astonished. Even though Friendship Hole was right nearby, Old Stump couldn’t smell the water! He reeked so strongly, he’d lost his sense of smell. It must have been the same for the guard gators, too.

  “Cooperate with you? Phish! I’ve heard about you—and I know you can’t be trusted. Besides, my water place dried up a long time ago.” Lucky didn’t budge from her nesting place.

  “Lying Present—you can’t fool Old Stump! Where there’s a red-eared turtle, there’s water nearby. Now lead the way before we become so thirsty we slurp down your eggs.” Old Stump flicked his tail at the mound. It sliced through the mud like one of Chef Jerry’s blades.

  “Wait!” Lucky’s head sagged. “I guess I have no c
hoice. But you must promise to leave my eggs alone.”

  “Of course.” The gruesome gator twitched his tail toward the guard gators. “Why eat a few puny eggs when there’s a pond full of tasty presents waiting for Old Stump and his friends?”

  The terrible trio wagged their tails like dogs.

  “Hurry up!” With his snout, Old Stump pushed Lucky Gal off the mound. She rolled down the slope and landed upside down on her carapace.

  “Heh-heh.” Number One snickered at the sight of Lucky’s ruined rear web. “Looks like someone’s already had a nibble.”

  “Just a couple of toes. There’s still plenty left,” said Number Two.

  “The tail looks like a tasty little bite,” Number Three said.

  As he watched Lucky Gal struggle, Bartleby could hardly breathe. If one of them tried to bite her, he would crawl out and chomp off its hind toe—no matter what happened afterward.

  But using her webs and neck, Lucky flipped herself back up quickly. “All right, I’ll take you there. But I warn you, the water place is far from here.”

  “Heh-heh-heh. If a three-toed turtle can get there, it should be no trouble for us,” Number One said. He started slithering behind Lucky.

  With a quick snap of his jaws, Old Stump bit his tail.

  “Yeeow!” Number One yelped.

  “Old Stump will follow the present. You three get behind,” the putrid gator ordered.

  Bartleby blinked. He couldn’t believe his eyes. Lucky Gal was going the wrong way! She was leading them in the opposite direction. Without waiting another moment, he turned on his webs and scuttled back to Friendship Hole.

  30

  Bartleby’s Posse

  “As long as I’m alive, that ssstinking gator and his gang will never ssseize Friendship Hole from us,” Seezer hissed. “I’ll sssee to that!” He plunged his claws into the mud bank as if it were Old Stump’s hide.

  “I’ll whip him, and rip him, and flip him if he puts just a toe in our water,” Grub growled, waving his skinny tail in the air.

  “Wh-why can’t we just 1-let him f-follow Lucky Gal away from h-here?” Number Four stuttered. “M-maybe they’ll get lost for g-good.”

  “We can’t leave Lucky alone with that backbiting bunch!” Bartleby exclaimed. “When they discover she’s leading them the wrong way they’ll eat her.”

  “But there’s four of them, and only three of us,” Number Four moaned.

  “I helped beat Old Stump once before, and I’ll do it again,” Bartleby reminded him. “You don’t have to be a bully to stand up against one.”

  “That’s right!” Big-Big swam out from under a lily pad and leaped up onto the bank. “I’ll kick those gators in the snout so hard they’ll cry like hatchlings!”

  “So will I.”

  Bartleby looked toward the tall grass and caught a glimpse of a floppy brown ear. “Are you sure, Quickfoot?”

  “I owe Old Stump a boot in the snoot!” she answered.

  “I might be able to tie up a tail—or a jaw,” Curly offered from a branch overhead. The little green snake wound herself around and around the tree limb to demonstrate.

  Quag-quog! Quag-quog! The egrets landed on the mud bank. “Plume and I will peck them till their hides are holey,” Billy vowed.

  “We must hurry before it’s too late,” Bartleby urged.

  Seezer lowered his belly to the bank. “Ssscramble upon my back—we’ll be much ssspeedier that way.”

  “Speed? You didn’t say I’d have to move fast,” someone said.

  “Just try your best,” another voice answered.

  Bartleby glanced over his carapace. “Digger! Baskin!”

  “We thought we might as well join you,” Digger said.

  “I can’t get a moment’s rest with this racket, anyway,” Baskin grumbled.

  Grub crouched down. “I’ll carry you, Digger. And Number Four can take Baskin.”

  “Me?” Number Four swiveled his head and gaped. But he sank down in front of the crotchety old turtle.

  “Try not to jiggle too much,” Baskin ordered as he clambered aboard.

  Like a caravan, the slithering, crawling, hopping creatures of Friendship Hole wound their way through the woods. Plume and Billy flew overhead, stopping in trees along the route. Many of the friends had never been more than a short distance from home before. To them, the towering trees and the vine-wrapped shrubs were unsettling.

  Number Four twitched his tail. “We’re getting awfully far from Friendship Hole.”

  “Yes, too far from water,” Baskin agreed from atop his back.

  “Are we lost, little bro’?” Grub called.

  “I hate being lost,” Number Four moaned.

  “Does Lucky Gal plan to go on leading those gator goons forever?” Big-Big grumbled.

  “Maybe we should go back,” Number Four said.

  At the head of the line, Bartleby was worried, too. He hadn’t forgotten the last fight with Old Stump. He and Grub had helped, but Seezer had taken the brunt of the battle. He’d been the one who’d defeated Old Stump. But what would happen this time? There was so much at stake. And Seezer didn’t have all his strength back yet. He needed more time to recover.

  “Maybe you should lead them back to Friendship Hole,” Bartleby whispered to Seezer. “I’ll go on, and see if I can help Lucky Gal. Maybe I can distract Old Stump and the others while she sneaks away.”

  “Even if you did, we wouldn’t be sssafe for long,” Seezer replied. “They’ll keep on ssseeking Friendship Hole until they find it. And they’ll ssspoil our community—just like they did my old bayou. No, we must sssend them away for good.”

  Bartleby knew his friend was right. He was still afraid, of course. But Seezer’s words made him feel more determined than ever.

  “Do you know where Lucky is leading that sssmelly band?” Seezer asked.

  Bartleby sniffed and gulped once more. Could it be? With the odor of Old Stump tainting the air, it was difficult to identify other scents. But he thought he detected something familiar—a mixture of fresh and ancient waters tinged with smells that were fishy and fumy.

  “I think I do,” he admitted. “If I’m right, it’s a water place big enough to keep Old Stump and his gang busy for a long time. But it’s also a place that has dangers of its own. We must ask our friends if they are willing to continue.” He leaned close to Seezer’s ear slit and whispered something.

  “Sssweet Ssswampland, that gal is sssmart!” Seezer exclaimed in a hushed voice. “But you are right—no one’s sssafety can be guaranteed. We may have to continue by ourssselves. You had better ask our sssupporters now.”

  Bartleby climbed down off Seezer’s back and faced the group. “Friends—I have an idea where Lucky Gal is headed. It appears she is leading Old Stump and the others to the river.”

  “To the Mighty Mississippi, bro’?” Grub asked. “Ha! That water should be big enough for that greedy group of gators!”

  “Yes. But it might take a battle to convince them to stay there. Old Stump is lazy. It would be easier for him to take over a home where the creatures are within easy reach of his jaws.”

  Big-Big hopped up and down. “Those gators have Lucky Gal. I’d like a chance to convince them to let her go!” He kicked the air with a strong web.

  “You’ve never been to the Mighty Mississippi,” Bartleby cautioned. “The bank of the river is a dangerous place. It’s out in the open. Humans might turn up. Or dogs. Or otters. Even the creatures in the river sometimes emerge in search of an easy meal. There’s no telling how this will come out. Some of you may want to turn back now.”

  None of the creatures said a word. Not a single one stepped out of line.

  “Then we must ssspeed on!” Seezer bellowed. “We must help Lucky Gal before Old Ssstump needs a sssnack.”

  31

  The River Helps Out

  Old Stump emerged from the tall grass and saw the Mighty Mississippi. Without a word, he watched the vast, powerful river. His
legs stiffened. His tail began to twitch. Suddenly he exploded with laughter.

  “Hargh, hargh, hargh! You thought you could outsmart Old Stump!” His awful breath nearly knocked Lucky Gal out. “There was once another present who tried to trick the greatest gator of all. He would have become a snack if his friends hadn’t saved him. But you don’t have any friends here. Hargh, hargh, hargh!” With his long, thick tail, Old Stump smacked the mud bank. It missed Lucky’s carapace by only the length of a minnow’s tail.

  “I thought you’d like this water place better than a gator hole,” Lucky said. “The river is more than deep enough for your big gut. And you’d never run out of fish—not even you can eat every one in the Mighty Mississippi.” But her voice no longer sounded as confident as it had in the woods. Her head sagged as if she were very tired. Her wounded rear foot was pulled into her shell.

  “Old Stump doesn’t want to live in a river!” came the thundering reply. “It’s too much work. He’d have to swim in a strong current. He’d have to watch out for humans in boats. He’d have to chase his snacks.” The big bully clamped a claw down over Lucky Gal’s carapace. “Old Stump gave you a chance. He was nice to you. But you made him walk all this way for nothing! Well, now he’s worked up an appetite. You will be his snack.”

  “I walked a long way, too. I’d like a little treat,” Number One said.

  “Yes. My stomach is feeling rather empty,” Number Two added.

  “All I want is a teeny-weeny bite,” Number Three whispered. “I don’t need much.”

  Old Stump smacked his jaws. “Of course. You may all go into the river and fish.”

  The terrible trio crept out on the flat stone ledge that hung over the river. Silently, they looked down at the thick brown water.

  Number One shoved Number Two with his snout. “You go first.”