Free Bartleby of the Big Bad Bayou by Phyllis Shalant Page B

Bartleby knew. But Lucky’s spirits seemed so low, he didn’t argue. He climbed up on a plant beside her. For a while, the two red-ears rested side by side, drowsing and dreaming.
    Lucky was the first to stretch her webs. “Let’s dig for grubs at the edge of the woods.”
    â€œThe last time we were in the woods, we had an unpleasant surprise,” Bartleby reminded her.
    â€œWe’ll just go to the very edge. I see a moldering branch that looks like a promising place to try.”
    â€œAll 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.
    â€œI’m going to visit with Baskin and Digger at their log. Do you want to come?”
    â€œNo. 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?”
    â€œWhy 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.

15
    Gone!
    Bartleby was drifting quietly under the willow, dreaming of cool, fast-flowing water. Suddenly he heard Seezer bellow.
    â€œYou ssstole my sssunfish!”
    Grub swallowed. “Sorry, bro’—I was hungry. Anyway, it wasn’t that good. Awfully bony.”
    â€œWhy don’t you go fish sssomewhere else? This is my ssspot.”
    â€œBut I like it here. The sun’s too hot.”
    â€œI’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.
    â€œWait! Where are you going?” Bartleby cried out before he could stop himself.
    â€œTo 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.”
    â€œMaybe 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.
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    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.
    â€œQuag-quog!