Fortunately both men were acquainted with the management of a dhow. The foresail was filled and the helm put up, and once more the unwieldy craft was set upon her course. There was little or nothing to be done for Preston and Mahmed. The former had recovered consciousness, having sustained a clean cut in the shoulder. It was Peter's servant who had borne the brunt of the initial attack, the Arabs, ignorant of his presence in the tent, having been under the impression that they were knifing his master. Already Olive and Mrs. Shallop had washed their wounds and bandaged them with the cleanest linen obtainable, which happened to be the burnous of the Arab captain. "Now you must sleep, Peter," said the girl authoritatively, after Mostyn had done his best for the dhow and her new crew. "You'll be fit for nothing to-morrow if you don't. No, I won't tell you anything more now. We'll be quite all right." Mostyn obeyed the mandate. Apart from being utterly fatigued he rather liked being ordered about by the self-possessed and capable girl. In default of suitable bedding and covering, for the well-tried sail had been hacked almost to shreds, he stretched himself on a clear space of deck and was soon sleeping the sleep of exhaustion. When Peter awoke it was broad daylight. Olive was not to be seen, but Mrs. Shallop had evidently been asserting herself--this time to good purpose; for, strange to relate, she was at the helm, while the lascars were engaged upon the finishing touches of "squaring up" the deck. All traces of the encounter had been removed, and the planks had been scrubbed and washed down. Preston and Mahmed had been carried into one of the cabins under the poop-deck, where already the Arabs' former quarters had been "swept and garnished". Seeing Peter stir, Mrs. Shallop threw him a curt greeting, with the additional advice that if he went aft he would find something to eat. Mostyn took the hint. He was feeling peckish. As he stooped to clear the break of the poop he heard the woman shouting to the lascars to "get a move on, as I don't want to hang on here no longer than I can help"--a contradiction of terms which, however, had the desired effect upon those for whom it was intended. In the aft cabin Peter found Olive presiding over a charcoal brazier and a brass coffee-pot, from which fragrant and almost forgotten odours were issuing. The dhow's larder had been raided, with the additional discovery of dates, dried goat's-flesh, bread, and several commodities of doubtful origin. Peter enjoyed the meal immensely in spite of his inflamed gullet. Then, over a cigarette, he heard Olive's account of her part in the desperate fight.