Not until the boat's stem was within twenty yards of the brute did Olive alter helm. Then, with a quick, even movement, she put the helm hard-a-port. Before the unwieldy animal could turn, the launch had literally scraped the hippo's submerged hindquarters. Then, swinging the boat back on her former course, the girl glanced at her companion. "Near thing, that," she remarked. "I wonder that would have happened if we'd hit it?" "We would have come off worst," replied Peter, who, now the danger was over, was beginning to realize what the consequences might have been. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind taking on," said Olive a little later. Mostyn took the helm. Although the girl had given no reason for wanting to relinquish the wheel, he felt pretty certain that the incident had shaken her up a bit. "You're all right?" he asked. "Quite," was the reply. Presently the river widened considerably. The launch was now within half a mile of her destination, but, according to the chart, there was a submerged bank on the starboard hand, and fairly deep water close to the right bank. Without warning the impetus of the launch was arrested. Peter was flung against the wheel; Olive, losing her balance, cannoned into him, and was saved from a violent concussion against the coaming by the fact that the native coxswain had got there first, and had been winded by his impact with the woodwork. The engineer, who had crawled under the fore-deck to replenish the contents of a grease-cup, was flung along the narrow floor by the motor and finished up by butting the petrol tank. "Aground!" exclaimed Mostyn, stating what was an obvious and accomplished fact. The engine was racing furiously. Jerking the reverse lever into the astern position Peter hoped that the action of the powerful propeller would release the launch from her predicament. It was in vain. The motor was racing as fast as ever, but there was no flow of water past the boat's side to indicate that the propeller was going astern. "Blades stripped, by Jove!" ejaculated Mostyn. He switched off the ignition, and, in the relative quietude that succeeded the machine-gun-like explosions of the exhaust, took stock of the situation. "Quite all right, thank you," replied the girl, in answer to Peter's question. The reply set Mostyn wondering whether in any circumstances Olive would say otherwise. By this time the native coxswain was sitting up. Although he was not taking nourishment he was gently caressing the bruised part of his anatomy, but otherwise betraying no interest in things. Then the engineer appeared, backing out of the motor-room, and mopping the blood on his forehead with a silk scarf. Gaining the steering-well he drew himself up and salaamed. "Why sahib stop engine?" he inquired. "'Cause the propeller blades are gone," replied Mostyn. "Savvy? Blades--screw--no can do. Like this."