A loud, very masculine-like voice, uttering a string of curses that would have done credit to a Thames bargee, greeted Olive's ears. As she stooped to clear the low poop she was just in time to see Mrs. Shallop deliver a clean and beautifully timed punch on the point of the Arab's jaw. The luckless fellow, lifted completely off his feet, crashed heavily against the bulkhead and slithered limply upon the deck. This much Olive saw by the aid of a horn lantern hanging from the deck-beam. Then, as Mrs. Shallop turned, the girl was also aware that there was a knife sticking into the woman's left shoulder. Olive offered her assistance. Mrs. Shallop, seemingly aware of the knife for the first time, waved her back. "Nothing to make a song about," she protested in a gruff voice. "When I want your help I'll ask for it--not before." And with this ungracious refusal Mrs. Shallop went back into her cabin and shut the door; leaving Olive, feeling considerably bewildered now that the reaction was setting in, standing close to the unconscious Arab. It was some moments before she pulled herself together sufficiently to go on deck. By this time the dhow had run up into the wind and was gathering sternway with her lateen foresail aback. Olive hardly heeded the fact. Her first care was to ascertain whether any of the three were still living. Peter looked a ghastly sight, a generous portion of his hair torn out by the roots and blood trickling down his forehead. A hasty examination showed that he was still alive and apparently without serious injury. Olive washed the stains from his face and rested his head on an improvised pillow. Then she went to the assistance of Preston and Mahmed. With difficulty she removed the collapsed tent, for in the melee the Acting Chief had rolled over upon the folds of the canvas. He too looked a pretty object, for the old wounds on his head had reopened, while in addition he had been stabbed. Olive deftly dressed the injuries and turned to Mahmed. She did not know what to make of the Indian boy. He was so chipped about that she was unaware whether he was alive or dead. Olive was still engaged in doing her best to patch Mahmed up when Mrs. Shallop appeared upon the scene. Somehow she had contrived to put a dressing over her wound, although it must have been a difficult task to tie the knot that held the bandage in position. "Bit of a mess, ain't it?" she remarked. "We'd best clean up a bit. How about heaving those blacks overboard?" "Are they all dead?" asked the girl. "Not a bit of it," was the unconcerned reply. "But they soon will be, so overboard with them." "No," declared Olive firmly. "It's not right--it's murder." "It would have been murder for us if they hadn't knuckled under," rejoined Mrs. Shallop. "When they come to their senses there'll be more trouble, you mark my words." Olive glanced in the direction of the Arab captain. Already he was showing signs of returning consciousness.