While the Indians were engaged in this operation the Wireless Officer, handing Olive the tiller, made a hasty yet comprehensive survey of the bilges. Except for a slight leaking 'twixt wind and water, the boat seemed absolutely tight. The canvas patches, reinforced as they were with woodwork, were standing the strain splendidly and gave not the slightest indication of leaking. Whether they would withstand the "working" of the boat in a seaway was still a matter that had to be proved. "What's the course, old man?" asked Peter. "Keep her at nor'-by-east," replied Preston. "Another thirty-six hours ought to work the oracle." "It's nearly a dead run," reported Mostyn, after he had steadied the boat on her course. "So much the better, s'long as you don't gybe her," rejoined the Acting Chief. "Not so much chance of making leeway." Peter saw the force of this contention, but that did not alter the fact that of all forms of sailing "running" was what he least liked. It soon became apparent that there were others who were of a similar opinion, for, as the boat rolled heavily before the hot, sultry wind, Mrs. Shallop and the lascars were quickly _hors de combat_, showing no enthusiasm when the first meal on board for that day was served out. Even Olive Baird, used as she was to sailing, felt the motion of the boat uncomfortable. The light breeze was scarcely perceptible, although it was making the sail draw well. Not only was the sun pouring down with considerable strength, but the sea was reflecting hot rays of dazzling light. Already the island astern was a mere pin-prick on the horizon. Ahead and on either beam was the now monotonous expanse of sea and sky. Late in the afternoon a shoal of flying fish came athwart the boat's course. Evidently they were being pursued, for they flew blindly, several of them bringing up against the sail and dropping stunned upon the thwarts. "Dolphins in pursuit, I think," explained Peter, in answer to Olive's question. "I don't know about that, though," he added after a pause. "Look at that." He pointed astern. Twenty yards away was the triangular dorsal fin of a shark. "The brute," ejaculated Olive, with a slight shudder. "I hope he goes off soon." But the girl's wish was not to be fulfilled. If the shark had been chasing the flying fish he no longer did so. Perhaps he scented promising and more satisfying fare, for without any apparent effort he began to follow the boat, rarely increasing or decreasing the distance. "Hang the shark," exclaimed Peter. "Here, Olive, is a chance to show what a good shot you are." He handed the girl his automatic. Without hesitation Olive took the somewhat complicated weapon. Peter noted, with a certain degree of satisfaction, that she handled it fearlessly, and at the same time with proper caution. He had no cause to duck his head because of the muzzle pointing in his direction. "Don't forget to release the safety-catch," he said.