whippin’ ’round like a harrycane. That poor cat was flung nearbout to the other side of the river. And by the time he’d paddled to the far bank, lookin’ droopy and bedraggled, Mr. Wildcat decided not to pursue the question no further with Mr. Alligator.
“Wasn’t too much longer before Mr. Bear come by and seen Mr. Alligator looking biggety. He asked him, ‘What makes you hold your head so high, Mr. Alligator?’
“Alligator given him one of them long smiles of his, and then he sings out, None of you critters better give me sauce. I am the champeen, I am the boss. Boss of this river, boss of these trees. All of you critters better ask me please.
“Mr. Bear figured on that a while, and then he suggested maybe Mr. Alligator weren’t the boss after all, and they commenced to argufyin’. Up and down they had it, back and forth, who can and who can’t, who is and who isn’t. They got so aggravated that Mr. Alligator reached way back with his tail and frammed Mr. Bear across the hunkers.
“That hurted Mr. Bear, you know. But mostly it made him mad. Mr. Bear’s a big feller and don’t fling so easy as a wildcat. He reached up high with his near paw and kerflunked it right down betwixt Mr. Alligator’s knobbly eyes just like he was swingin’ a hammer. Knocked all the bubbles out’n him. Sunk him all the way to the river mud. Mr. Alligator figured he’d had about all he wanted, and he moseyed a good piece down the river afore he knobbed his nose out’n the water again.
“Mr. Bear couldn’t help bloviatin’ a little bit. He stood up on his behind legs and grumbled and growled so as to get his pitch, then he sung out: None of you critters better give me sauce. I am the champeen, I am the boss. Boss of this river, boss of these trees. All of you critters better ask me please.
“Then Mr. Bear figured that if he was going to be the boss of the forest he better go ahead and start bossin’ some folks. So he gathered up all the critters in a clearing where he could give everybody their ’signments. The critters didn’t like it very much, and they all was grumblin’ in their goozlums, but they’d seen what Mr. Bear done to Mr. Alligator, and them what didn’t see it had heard about it. Nobody figured he’d be the first person to backchat Mr. Bear.
“Mr. Bear said, ‘You folks probably heard already, I’m the boss of this here forest.’ That made the critters feel uneasy in their minds, but nobody said nothin’. They just kind of shuffled their paws around a little bit.
“Then, when Mr. Bear was about to start with the ’signments, somebody hollered out, ‘I don’t reckon you the boss of me, old Bear.’
“Mr. Bear’s brow went wrinkly and he stared from critter to critter. He asked, ‘Which one of you folks is givin’ me sauce?’ All the critters just looked down at their paws, afraid Mr. Bear would think it was them what said he weren’t the boss. Mr. Bear said a little louder, ‘Which one of you critters is givin’ me sauce?’
“The voice hollered out again, ‘I’m the one what’s givin’ you sauce, Bear. That’s the way I like my bear meat-with a little sauce.’
“Mr. Bear ain’t grumblin’ no more. Now he’s roaring: ‘Who said that?!’
“The voice hollered out a third time: ‘It’s me, it’s Mr. Flea. And I don’t mind saying, I’m a better man than you, Mr. Bear.’
“Mr. Bear squinched up his eyes and soodled down close to the ground and sure enough, he seen Mr. Flea standing on the top of a daisy flower with his chest poked out and his fists balled up. Mr. Bear give a snort, then he commenced to hee-hawing.
“That just made Mr. Flea mad. ‘I ain’t a man to be laughed at,’ he told him. ‘You better ’pologize to me, and in a hurry too.’
“But Mr. Bear’d done flopped down on the ground and was tee-heein’ and haw-hawin’ like he just couldn’t help hisself.
“Mr. Flea poked out his chest farther and balled up his fists harder. ‘You stand up and show me some respect, Bear, or you gonna find out why!’
“But it weren’t no use. Mr. Bear guffawed and rolled around like somebody was ticklin’ him in the short ribs. Well, Mr. Flea weren’t one to make idle threats. He was a man of action. He hopped off that daisy flower and onto Mr. Bear’s nose. Found a nice soft spot and got hisself a whole mouthful.
“You can believe Mr. Bear stopped laughing then. He raised up a paw and swatted his snout so hard that he knocked his own slobber all over Mr. Possum. But Mr. Flea was long gone. He hopped up to Mr. Bear’s ear and got hisself another plug of bear hide. Mr. Bear ’bout knocked hisself cross-eyeded punchin’ at his own ear, but by that time Mr. Flea had done attached himself to Mr. Bear’s hindquarters.
“Mr. Bear flopped on his back and wallowed around, but Mr. Flea already commenced to chawin’ on his belly. Then he got him up under the chin, then up under his left armpit.”
Dobro paused for dramatic effect. “And do you know what that bear done then?” Percy and Aidan shook their heads, eager to hear the end of the story.
“He sat there and took it, that’s what he did. What else could he do? Mr. Flea was gnawin’ the hide off’n him, and he couldn’t do one thing to stop him.
“Finally Mr. Flea spit out a mouthful of bristle and gristle and hollered out, ‘How ’bout it, Mr. Bear? You surrender?’ And you can believe the critters perked up to hear the answer to that question.
“Mr. Bear moaned, all humble-come-tumble, ‘I surrender, Mr. Flea! Mercy!’
“Mr. Flea stood on Mr. Bear’s nose and looked him in the eye. He said, ‘I ain’t a hard man, Mr. Bear, but I ain’t gonna let nobody boss me or my people. You hear me, Bear?’
“‘I hear you, Mr. Flea.’
“And the flea sung a different song: I like my bear with a little sauce. This here forest got a brand-new boss!
“And so,” Dobro concluded, “if a flea can be a better man than a bear, I ain’t going to feel so bad about getting whupped by a whole swarm of mosquitoes.”
Dobro looked up and down his exposed arms and legs. He still couldn’t get used to them being any color but the gray of swamp mud. “I was plenty pink after you tried to scrub my skin off at the river,” he said. “But I keep gettin’ pinker by the minute. Next seep hole or stagnant pool we come to, I aim to wallow in it.”
“No, you won’t!” Aidan and Percy said in unison.
“If you want to live among civilizers, you’ve got to live like civilizers,” Aidan said. “You aren’t subjecting my family to that feechie stink. Your breath alone is going to be as much as most civilizers can stand.”
“Besides,” Percy added, “we’re almost to Sinking Canyons already. Next water we see will be the little creek that flows at the bottom of the canyons.”
Chapter Ten
The morning of the third day after leaving Hustingreen, the three travelers struck a little creek that was struggling across the plain. “This is it,” said Percy. “This is the creek that flows through Sinking Canyons.”
Aidan took another look at the muddy stream. He could easily jump across it. It wasn’t even deep enough to support fish larger than minnows and shiners. He cocked his head and looked questioningly at Percy. “This little creek cut a canyon?” Aidan had seen a canyon once in the Hill Country. Through it roared the Upper Branch of the mighty River Tam, boiling white as it leaped over rocks and plunged into pools, swirling and thundering, cutting its own path through the canyon’s granite walls on its way to the sea many leagues away. Aidan could imagine the River Tam cutting a canyon. But this little stream? It didn’t seem possible.
As they hiked up the stream, however, its banks deepened and grew farther apart. And soon the banks of the creek weren’t banks anymore, but the sides of a little valley through which the stream ran flat and wide, not even ankle deep, in muddy rivulets that crossed and recrossed one another like braided hair.
“Watch this,” said Percy as he stepped into the braided stream. The water ran over the tops of his feet and flowed cloudier a little distance before the stirred-up mud settled out again. Percy pointed where he had just stepped. “Watch my bootprints.” The clear imprint of Percy’s boots melted away as the rivulets braided themselves back together in the soft mud. “A hundred men could troop up this streambed, and a quarter hour later there would
