It was a strenuous task for Mostyn. Already sorely tried by his previous and successful combat, he realized that the unequal struggle could not last much longer. The weighty and frantically kicking Arab was surely wearing out his last remaining strength, while the comparatively uninjured captain was awaiting his opportunity of rushing in and knifing the exhausted Englishman. Peter had "seen red", now he was beginning to "see white", for a mist swam in front of his eyes. He felt his knees giving way under him. He was no longer able to hold his human buckler clear of the deck, and the Arab's bare heels were beating an erratic tattoo on the planks. Seizing his chance, the Arab captain sprang. The steel glittered in the starlight. Peter could see that. He braced himself to receive the stroke, when a dazzling reddish flash stabbed the air, followed almost simultaneously by a loud report. As far as Peter was concerned the fight was finished. He lay unconscious on the deck, sandwiched between his living buckler and the body of the treacherous captain of the dhow. CHAPTER XXXIV Olive deals with the Situation A violent slatting of canvas was the first comprehensible sound that greeted Peter's ears as he began to recover his senses. He opened his eyes and stared perplexedly at a light. It came from a familiar object--the boat's lamp. He could not understand why the sails were shaking, unless for some reason the boat had been allowed to run up into the wind, which was great carelessness on some one's part, he reflected. Yet, somehow, he wasn't in the _West Barbican's_ boat, but on the deck of something far more spacious. He tried to sit up. The movement was a failure, resulting in a throbbing pain in the region of "Adam's apple". Remaining quiet for a few minutes he racked his bewildered brains to find a solution to the mystery. He was lying on his left side, his head supported on a folded coat. His forehead was bound round with a wet cloth. Why he knew not. It wasn't his head but his neck that was giving him pain. And what was the boat's lantern doing there? Then he became aware of a hand touching him lightly on the forehead. He recoiled at the touch, and, turning his head, saw Olive kneeling on the deck beside him. "Hello!" he exclaimed feebly. "Where am I?" "Still on the dhow," replied the girl. "You--we--are all right now." "Are we?" rejoined Peter, still mystified. "Why is she run up into the wind? Can you give me a drink of water?" Mostyn drank with difficulty. The liquid was refreshing to his parched tongue and lips, although it was a painful task to swallow. Then he looked at the girl again. Her face was deathly pale, even in the yellow glare of the lantern. She was bareheaded, her hair, loosely plaited, falling over her shoulders. There were dark patches on the hem of her badly worn skirt.