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Saltwater Scramble For a dish of turtle eggs, take a murder, a fightin' ghost, ten thousand dollars, and a squall. Mix well. Then go find your eggs By ALEXANDER KEY Author of "The Devil's Jaw," "Luck on the Ladybird," etc. I THERE ain't but two things what can make Cap'n Lucius P. Shackel forget that he weighs as much as a buck elephant and that his port leg is a piece o' hickory. Ordinarily he never stirs more'n a dozen steps ashore, for in the years since him an' me first started tow-boatin' together on the Mary Shackel, he's acquired such a terrible lot o' beam an' ballast that he cracks up an average o' five wooden legs a season. But just put him on the trail o' some buried money, or let him git a yen for a turtle egg omelet, an' then there's goin' to be action—an' sometimes a heap o' trouble. Even so, I'd never a-thought I'd live to see the day when his hankering for turtle eggs would come nigh to bein' the death of us both. But I better not precede myself on this here egg business. It really starts away back yonder with a certain no-count shark-faced rascal by the name o' Cap'n Amos McTigue, a varmint what is so ornery he would steal the pennies out a blind man's cup, an' maybe take the cup if'n he thought he could turn it to some account. I reckon everybody on the Gulf Coast
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