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Authors: Phyllis Shalant

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BOOK: Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou
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“Someone had better catch up to Present—or Old Stump is going to be mad!”
The four gators began swimming faster. Bartleby could feel their breath on his carapace, but he only sank lower in the water and paddled his webs harder. Never once did he turn to see how close the gator guards were. He kept all his attention focused on the chain of water lilies ahead that meant his freedom.
Seezer and Grub were waiting on the mud bank near the finish line. “It's hard to see, but I think little bro' is in the lead,” Grub exclaimed.
“Bartleby!” Seezer called. “Ssspeed up a little more—you're almost there!”
When he heard his friend's voice, Bartleby made a last, great push. In another moment, he touched the row of lilies.
“Sssweet Ssswampland, you are sssaved!” Seezer dove into the water and swam underneath Bartleby. As he came up, he lifted the red-eared hero onto his back. “Bartleby sssucceeded! He outssswam the others!” he bellowed.
“Bartleby did it! He beat Old Stump's goon platoon!” Grub whooped. He slid into the water to join his friends.
“You logheads!” Old Stump roared as the four gators straggled to the finish line. “You lost to Present.”
“Sorry, Old Stump.”
“I have no idea how it could have happened.”
“I got a cramp in my tail.”
“I ran out of breath.”
“SILENCE! You are all good-for-nothings. Old Stump doesn't know why he puts up with you.”
“It ssseems to me that they put up with you,” Seezer said. “But now that Bartleby has sssecured his freedom, we no longer have to. Ssso long!” Carrying Bartleby on his back, Seezer began gliding downstream. Grub was right beside him.
“Stop! Come back with my present!” Old Stump bellowed. He whipped his tail at the four guard gators. “After them!”
The gators didn't move.
Old Stump smashed his huge head against the surface. “Then I will stop them myself,” he hissed. He clawed and thrashed at the water as he began swimming after Seezer.
“Look out, bro'!” Grub cried as the massive body came hurtling at them.
As Seezer spun around, Bartleby was sent flying off his back.
Smack!
The red-ear landed so hard in the water, for a moment he was breathless. But Old Stump didn't notice Bartleby. His jaws were open as he lunged for Seezer.
Seezer roared and dove underwater. Old Stump followed. The bayou began to foam and churn so violently, Bartleby could only bob on the surface. Suddenly Old Stump and Seezer exploded above the water. They bashed their chests together as they slashed at each other with their claws, jaws, and tails. Their necks twisted into gruesome contortions as each tried to bite the other.
Old Stump flung his tail over Seezer and pulled him close to his odoriferous jaws. Then he dug his teeth into Seezer's neck.
Bartleby had been treading water beside Grub, watching the fight. Now he whirled into action. He dove underwater and paddled over to Old Stump's left hind foot. He bit the monster's outer toe—the most sensitive one on an alligator.
“Owwwww! That hurts!” Old Stump bellowed, pulling his jaws from Seezer's neck. He spun around. But before he could reach Bartleby, the red-ear dove underwater again. This time he clamped his small, strong jaws onto the outer toe of Old Stump's right hind foot.
“Owwwww! Owwwww!” the gator roared again. He kicked Bartleby so hard the red-ear flew out of the water and crashed down on the mud bank. Dizzy and dazed, Bartleby waited for his head to stop spinning.
Old Stump closed his jaws around Seezer's throat. He was squeezing the breath out of him. Suddenly another gator came swimming toward them. Its dark eyes flashed. Its teeth gnashed ferociously.
It's the end for us, Bartleby thought. Then he realized it was Grub.
“Let him go, Old Skunk!” Grub demanded.
Old Stump whipped his tail at Grub. “Stay out of this, you gutless gator—or you'll be next,” he hissed through his teeth.
“Not unless you release my bro'!” Grub grabbed the end of the big beast's tail and sank his jaws into it.
Old Stump writhed, and wriggled, and whirled in the water, but he still didn't release Seezer.
Bartleby took a deep breath and dove in again. Once more he found Old Stump's sensitive hind toe and chomped down on it.
Old Stump's jaws flew open. “Owwwwwooooo, my tail! Owwwwwooooo, my toe! Owwwwooooo—OLD STUMP GIVES UP!”
Bartleby released his grip on the long, revolting toe. “My friends and I are leaving this bayou. Don't try to stop us, or next time I may swallow your toe,” he said, although his stomach turned at the thought.
“Good riddance,” Old Stump snarled. “You weren't a very good present, anyway.”
8
The Flooded Forest
Before Old Stump could change his mind again, Bartleby, Seezer, and Grub crawled up the mud bank and slipped away into the woods. As he rode on Seezer's back, Bartleby inspected the tooth marks on his friend's neck.
“Do your wounds hurt much?” he asked.
“Sssertainly not. That old ssscoundrel's teeth were too rotten to ssstab my ssscaly hide very deeply. But I was getting awfully tired of ssstruggling with that ssselfish bully. It's good you and Grub joined the ssscuffle.”
Grrruhhhh!
Grub let out a proud bellow. “In the morning Old Stump is going to have a big tail ache. I wouldn't want to be around him then.”
But there was no time to celebrate their victory. The thought of the enraged bull gator made them press on even faster through the thick tangle of vines and bushes.
Whoosh, whoosh!
“Did you hear that?” Bartleby asked from atop Seezer's back.
Seezer stopped and listened. “What did it sssound like?”
Bartleby's webs trembled. “Like the sweeping of a great tail across the forest floor.”
“Like this, little bro'?” Grub whisked his tail back and forth.
“Yes—only with a much bigger tail.”
“It could have been the sssound of mice rustling the leaves—or of a bird of prey ssspreading its wings,” Seezer suggested. “But if sssomeone is ssstalking us, it's sssafer to keep moving.”
Staying very close together, the little band scuttled around the trees, over logs and rocks, and through piles of brush. The deeper they went, the darker it got. After a while, they could hardly see one another.
Whoosh, whoosh.
“I hear it now, little bro',” Grub hissed.
“Ssso do I,” Seezer agreed. “Sssomeone is trailing us. We must find a sssecure place to sssettle before it catches up.” He swung his head toward Grub. “Which way ssshould we go?”
“I don't know, bro'. I've never been farther than the mud bank before.”
“I know a swamp not far from here,” whispered a familiar voice.
Bartleby stretched out his neck and looked around. “Quickfoot—is that you?”
“Yes,” the voice answered.
“Who's Quickfoot, little bro'?”
“A new friend. She asked the egrets to bring fish to the bayou so the guard gators would eat while I swam ahead of them.”
“Sssplendidly done!” Seezer looked around. “Ssshow yourself ssso we can thank you for sssaving Bartleby.”
There was no answer—no crackling in the brush or soft, careful footsteps.
Seezer flicked his tail. “Come on, don't be ssshy. Time is ssshort.”
“Quickfoot is a swamp rabbit,” Bartleby explained. “Old Stump devoured her entire family. She is not fond of alligators. You must agree not to harm her.”
“Why, I'm very fond of swamp rabbits,” Grub crooned.
“Control yourself!” Seezer growled. He looked toward the thicket where the voice had come from. “You have my promise. If you ssshow us where to ssseek ssshelter, you will be sssafe with us.”
Whoosh
,
whoosh.
Everyone fell silent when they heard the powerful sweeping. It was getting closer.
“You can trust me, too, swamp bunny,” Grub whispered. “Just let's get going. Please!”
“All right. Follow me.” The silhouette of a plump rabbit emerged from behind a thorny bush. Before the gators could get a good look, it took off hopping.
The alligators had to scramble to keep up with the nimble creature. Atop Seezer's back, Bartleby was bounced and rocked. His poor head was starting to spin when he heard Seezer's webs make sucking sounds. “The ground is growing muddy,” he told himself. “There must be water nearby.” A bubble of hope rose above his plastron.
Just as the sun began to rise, they came upon the strangest water place Bartleby had ever seen. It looked like a forest. But instead of being rooted in solid ground, the trees were standing in dark, glossy water. Bartleby studied the quiet surface. More than anything, he was hoping to meet other red-eared turtles at this new water place. But he didn't see a single creature floating or basking.
“Doesn't anyone live here?” he asked.
Quickfoot flexed a soft, brown ear. “Oh, yes, the swamp is full of creatures. They're hiding because of Seezer and Grub. There haven't been any alligators in this swamp for a while. The last ones left during the dry spell.”
“What's that?”
“A terrible time of great heat and no rain that makes the water disappear.”
Standing at the edge of the flooded forest, Bartleby couldn't imagine how the water could disappear. It was everywhere he looked. Dry land seemed to be the thing that had vanished.
Suddenly a fish leaped up and splashed down.
“Sssweet Ssswampland, what a fat, frisky creature! I had better ssseize it before it disappears!” Seezer dove into the water.
“Save some for me, bro',” Grub exclaimed as he followed after him.
Bartleby was too anxious to be hungry. “I'd like to look for red-eared turtles. Do you have any idea where they might be?” he asked Quickfoot.
The swamp rabbit wiggled her fluffy tail. “Let's try the water-lettuce patch first. They often breakfast there.” To Bartleby's surprise, she jumped right in.
“I've never seen a rabbit swim,” he exclaimed as he slipped in after her.
She flashed a paw above the surface. “That's because we swampers are the only rabbits with webs between our toes”—she dove underwater and came up quickly—“and coats thick enough to keep us dry.”
Bartleby took a good look at her dun-colored fur. Sure enough, water trailed off it in little streams, just like water off a duck's back.
In and out of the weird, swamped trees, Bartleby followed Quickfoot. Once, when he turned his head toward a splashing sound, he bumped into one of the woody bumps that surrounded a tall trunk.
“Ugh!” A soft grunt escaped from his throat. “Better watch out for those cypress knees,” Quickfoot warned. “They're all over the swamp.”
Bartleby's insides clenched up tightly. The trees here had knees. Rabbits could swim. And a watery forest could disappear. Everything in bayou country seemed so strange. Maybe the red-ears would be different, too. He looked around for Seezer and Grub, but there was no sign of his friends. There was nothing to do but follow Quickfoot. He began paddling faster so he wouldn't fall behind.
9
Swamp Sense
The water lettuce was floating in the center of a large cluster of cypress trees with many woody knees. Bartleby's spirits lifted a bit at the sight of the big leafy plants. Each lettuce was shaped like a giant flower with lots of overlapping petals. He couldn't resist trying a bite. The thick, soft leaf was tender and succulent, and slightly hairy. It tickled the roof of his mouth.
“Oh, this is even better than the lettuce where I used to live,” he exclaimed.
“Where is that?”
Bartleby paddled around. In among a patch of duckweed, three red-ears popped up their heads. The way they stared made him feel as if he'd suddenly grown wings or long, floppy ears. “I'm Bartleby. I came from a place in the north called New York. But bayou country is my true home.”
“Well, I am Digger and this swamp is my home,” one of the turtles snapped. His ear patches were the dark red color of leaves in the fall.
“I'm Baskin and it's my home, too,” a second turtle said. “Did you bring those two gators with you?” His voice was slow and deep, and his red ear patches seemed faded.
“Yes, those gators are my friends. The one with the shortened tail is Seezer. Without him, I could never have made the journey. We met Grub, the skinny one, at Old Stump's bayou on the other side of the woods. He was practically starving and—”
“Don't you have any swamp sense? Turtles and alligators can't be friends,” Baskin interrupted. “You shouldn't have brought them here. Tell them to go away.”
“I couldn't do that,” Bartleby protested. “Besides—Seezer and Grub won't harm you. There are plenty of fish in the water for them to eat. And this swamp looks big enough for everyone.”
Digger paddled closer. He stuck his snout in Bartleby's. “Baskin is right. We've lived here all our lives. We know. Alligators can't be trusted.”
Bartleby edged his head in a bit. “But my friends and I don't know where else to go.”
“Well, I'm not afraid of gators!” the third turtle declared. She was about the same size as Bartleby. Her carapace was a dark, glossy green, and its flared sides were decorated with a delicate pattern of green and yellow swirls. Her ear patches were the orangey red color of fire. Bartleby couldn't help staring at them.
“I'm Lucky Gal,” she said. “I got my name because an otter called Fishguts caught my right rear web—but I got away from him.” She paddled around and poked her web in his face. It was missing two toes.
BOOK: Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou
12.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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