Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou (15 page)

“Bertha! Come on, you lazy gal!” Chef Jerry yelled.

Bartleby cringed as Bertha grabbed him in her jaws. To his surprise, it felt like being carried by something almost as soft as water. Bertha didn't use her teeth at all as she toted Bartleby toward the driveway. Her mouth felt as if it were lined with feathers.

When they got to the back of the truck, the dog's jaw tensed up. Her hold on Bartleby got firmer. Then she leaped. For an instant, dog and turtle were in the air before they landed in the back of the truck.

Bertha deposited Bartleby in the straw that was piled in a corner of the truck bed. Then she jumped off to go back for Lucky Gal.

“Just a minute, Bertha!” Chef Jerry grabbed the dog's red collar. “What's got into you this mornin'? You're runnin' around like a mother hen. You'd better sit up front with me.” The man closed up the back of the truck. He led Bertha to the front and waited while she jumped in. Then he got in next to her and shut the door.

Vrrrooom! Chef Jerry gunned the engine.

“Wait! Wait!” Bartleby whispered. “Lucky, where are you?” He crawled out of the straw and pushed against the back door of the truck. “Help! Help!” he grunted.

The truck began to vibrate. Then it roared.

“Oh no, no, no!” Bartleby moaned as the truck began rolling down the crunchy gravel driveway. What had he done? Again and again, he tried to climb over the back door of the truck. But each time he came crashing down.

“Lucky, I never meant to go without you,” he whispered. Sick with remorse, he pulled into his shell. It was hopeless. He was never going to see her again.

A series of earsplitting cries pierced his carapace. Then barks. Then long, bloodcurdling howls. Bartleby knew what those sounds meant. Bertha was grieving, too.

The truck rolled on. Bertha kept wailing. Bartleby could hear her nails clacking against the windows. Suddenly the truck jerked to a sharp halt. Thunk! Bartleby was flung against the back door.

Over the dog's ruckus, Bartleby could hear Chef Jerry shouting. “Bertha! What's the matter? You got to go?” Then came the creak of the truck door opening, and the sound of Bertha's paws pattering over the gravel.

Bartleby clawed up the rear door of the truck so he was standing on his hind legs. Just over the top, he caught a glimpse of Bertha running around the back of the restaurant. In a few moments she reappeared carrying Chef Jerry's tall, rubber foot coverings.

The man got out of the truck. “My waders! I almost forgot 'em,” he exclaimed. “Bertha, you were worried I'd git snakebit, weren't you? You are the best dog in the world.” He took the tall boots from the dog's mouth and patted her on the head. Then he pulled down the truck's back door. Bartleby had to scuttle under the straw to hide.

As Chef Jerry was putting his boots into the truck bed, Bertha leaped in, too.

“Come down from there,” the man boomed. “You kin ride up front with me.”

Bertha plopped down on top of the straw. Bartleby could feel her breathing hard.

“Come on now, Bertha,” Chef Jerry said.

The dog laid her head on her front paws.

“All right, if that's what you want, then. You sure are actin' peculiar this mornin'.” Once more, the man closed up the back flap.

When the truck started moving, Bartleby crawled out of the straw. “Oh Bertha, we've left Lucky Gal behind,” he moaned. He placed a web on her big paw.

Bertha blinked her soft eyes at him. She took one of Chef Jerry's boots in her mouth and shook it gently. Out crawled Lucky Gal.

“Phew! That was close,” Lucky said.

Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh,
Bertha agreed. She licked each turtle before she settled down for a nap.

Inside the back of the truck, Bartleby's snout began to twitch. He took a big gulp of air. “I smell the Mighty Mississippi,” he whispered. “We must be getting closer.”

Yuh-yuh-yuh-yuh, Bertha agreed.

Soon enough, the truck rolled to a stop. Chef Jerry dropped the back door down and grabbed his fishing branch. He laughed as he removed the big, white box. “I hope the fish like the snails in puff pastry I've got in this cooler.” Only Bertha knew the man's secret to catching fish—using scrumptious restaurant leftovers on his hook.

“Maybe I'll catch that gator gar this time, Bertha. I'll set up on that rocky ledge hangin' over the water.” Chef Jerry toted his gear toward the river.

“Ready, Bertha!” Bartleby grunted as the man walked away. He turned to Lucky. “You go first this time.” Bertha leaned down and opened her mouth. Lucky didn't hesitate or close her eyes before she stepped into the dog's jaws.

Bartleby kept his eyes on Chef Jerry. If he discovered that his “star athletes” were escaping, they'd be back at the fountain by the end of the day. But the man never turned around as Bertha jumped off the back of the truck—once! twice!—with a turtle in her mouth each time. Nor did he pay attention as Bertha trotted behind the turtles as they crossed the mud bank.

When they reached the safety of the tall grass, Bartleby stopped and looked up at the dog. He'd never expected her to become a friend, yet he was going to miss her. “It's time for us to part now, Bertha,” he said. “I wish you could come with us, but Chef Jerry needs you.”

The big dog lay down. Her ears drooped.

Lucky Ga! pressed her snout into the dog's furry side. “Thank you for helping us. You've been a true friend. We'll never forget you.”

“Bertha! Here, gal!” Chef Jerry yelled suddenly. “Where'd you git off to?”

Bertha stood up.
Mrrph
,
mrrph
,
mrrph
, she moaned softly. It meant, “Sad, sad good-bye.” One more time, she licked each carapace. Then she ran back toward the river.

 

Bartleby and Lucky Gal scuttled over the broad levee. But by the time they reached the woods, Lucky was beginning to drag her bad web. She never complained, but Bartleby was worried. Even without an injured foot, he was exhausted.

“Perhaps we should rest in the pile of leaves under that oak tree,” he suggested.

“All right—but only for a short while,” Lucky agreed. “We mustn't linger too long.”

Side by side, the two red-ears burrowed under the leaves. When they were settled in, Bartleby asked, “I've been wondering why Bertha decided to help us. Was it the thing you whispered to her?”

“Maybe,” Lucky mumbled in a tired voice. “But let's talk later.” She pulled into her shell.

Bartleby shut his eyes, but he couldn't nap. While he'd been planning their escape, he hadn't let himself think about whether Seezer was still alive. Now that he was going to find out, he was afraid. What if he was too late?

Lucky Gal seemed unable to rest much, either. Bartleby could hear her shifting on her webs. He felt her carapace moving beside his. “Are you awake?” he whispered.

“Yes. I guess I'm too excited to hold still. Let's move on!”

But getting through the woods was more difficult than Bartleby remembered. It seemed as if every bit of ground had sprouted crazily with shrubs, ferns, and grasses. Sometimes he and Lucky got tangled up in vines so tough, they had to bite their way through them. Or they had to climb over the great trunks of fallen trees that blocked their way. And they always had to be careful not to fall into the holes that lay hidden beneath piles of leaves and sticks. Who knew what creatures were waiting there?

In spite of how hard she tried to keep up, Lucky Gal began to trail farther and farther behind. When she disappeared from view, Bartleby climbed onto a rock to wait.

“Go on,” Lucky called, poking her head around a clump of ferns. “I'll be all right.”

But Bartleby wouldn't leave her. As she hobbled closer, he could see she was crawling on only three legs. Her injured web was tucked inside her shell.

“I need to stop here,” Lucky said when she'd finally caught up. “You've got to continue without me.”

Bartleby gazed around. “It's too dangerous.”

“I haven't forgotten how to take care of myself,” Lucky said, but she didn't sound angry. “Besides, a mother-to-be is the most persistent creature in the world.”

Bartleby's heart leaped like a spring peeper. “A mother-to-be?” he repeated.

“Yes—we are going to have hatchlings.”

“But—but why didn't you tell me before?”

“It's meant to be a secret for a mother turtle to keep.”

“I'm going to have hatchlings!” Bartleby's webs were still touching the ground, but he felt as if he were flying. “What wonderful news! I'll wait here until—”

“No,” Lucky said so firmly that Bartleby snapped his jaws shut. “To dig the nest and lay the eggs, I must be alone. There is no other way. That is why Bertha agreed to help us. She has a tender heart for hatchlings of all kinds.”

Still, Bartleby was worried. It didn't seem right to leave Lucky alone in the woods. She could get lost. The Claw, the Paw, and the Jaw might be anywhere.

Suddenly Lucky gave his shell a hard push. “Have you forgotten you have a job to do as well? Seezer is waiting. Hurry to Friendship Hole! I'll find you there.”

The sun was nearly gone when Bartleby arrived at a small pond. He stopped and stared. The smooth oval reflected the trees and the sky like a perfect other world.

“Bartleby, I knew you'd return,” a voice murmured. “Welcome to Friendship Pond. Seezer has been longing for you to see it.”

Bartleby stretched out his neck and looked around. Behind a tree trunk he glimpsed a floppy brown ear. “Quickfoot, you're here!”

“Seezer invited us to stay in the hole he dug,” someone called from the pond. It was Digger, floating on a branch with Baskin.

“Yes, he thought if we were all here, you would come back,” Baskin added. “The basking is quite excellent.”

“Seezer is a fine excavator and a fine friend—almost as good as me.” With a splash, Big-Big sprang from the water onto the mud bank. “Hurry! Go down into his cave. Grub is there with him. He hasn't left Seezer's side.”

“He asked me to protect the others. I'm in charge,” Number Four called from the opposite bank. He whipped the ground with his tail and bellowed very convincingly.

Bartleby slipped into the gator hole and swam along the bottom. At the far end, he found Grub paddling back and forth before the entrance to a cave.

“Little bro'—glad you're back.” With the tip of his tail, the skinny gator patted Bartleby's carapace. “Go on in. Seezer is too weak to open his eyes, but maybe he'll hear you. While you're with him, I'll go catch a snack. It's been a while since I've eaten.”

Part of Bartleby wished he could hide in his shell, but he paddled swiftly past Grub into the long, underwater cave. On the muddy floor, flat on his belly, lay his friend. Seezer's eyes were shut. And when Bartleby stroked him on his snout, he didn't move. With trembling webs, the red-ear paddled up behind the alligator's right eye and whispered into his ear slit.

“Seezer, it's me. I'm here now. I'm sorry I stayed away so long. I was captured by a human, and it took me a while to figure out how to get back. But while I was gone, I learned something important. I was wrong when I said I didn't need you. I missed your friendship more than you will ever know.”

Seezer didn't open his eyes, or nod, or grunt.

Never in his life had Bartleby felt more frightened. But he settled down on the alligator's head to wait for whatever happened next.

“Remember when we first came here, Seezer?” he murmured. “I didn't even know what a bayou was. If it wasn't for you, that smelly Old Stump would have swallowed me up. He was so much bigger and stronger, yet you risked your life to save me. But I was so awed by your courage that I never noticed the thing I should have admired more. I never thought about the disappointment you must have felt when you didn't find your family. You never despaired. You never gave up. You went on to—”

“Ssstop sssitting on my head
.
”

Bartleby looked down. “You spoke!”

“I sssaid, get off my ssskull.” Seezer's voice was slow and faint. “I need sssomething to eat.”

“I'll go and catch you a fish. I'll be right back. Stay here!” Bartleby slipped off Seezer's head and began paddling toward the entrance of the cave.

It was dark when Bartleby popped up at the surface.

“How is he?” Billy asked. The egret was perched on the branch of a cypress tree. Plume was beside him, sitting on her nest.

“I heard you were back,” she added. “Welcome.”

“A fish! He asked for a fish!” Bartleby announced. He splashed the water with all four webs.

“I'll get it, little bro',” Grub called from the mud bank.

“I'd be happy to get it,” Number Four volunteered.

“No, I'll get it,” Big-Big croaked from a lily pad.

“Yes, one of you do it,” Baskin grunted from his floating branch. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“He asked me,” Bartleby said. “I'll catch his fish.”

Before he dove beneath the water, he cast a glance toward the woods. “Has anyone seen Lucky Gal?”

“Did she come with you?” Plume asked.

“Yes, but she stopped along the way. She should be here soon.”

“In the morning, I can fly over the trees and look for her,” Billy offered.

“No, she'll come on her own. You know how independent she is,” Bartleby answered quickly. He knew Lucky wouldn't want to be spied upon. An anxious feeling fluttered inside him, but he reminded himself to be patient.