"Bus!" cried Peer Khan, as he got out of the way; "enough, great Khan! noble Khan, thou art a dead man now. Feringhee and Moslem, thou hast made rare fun for us."
"Raise him up," said I to them; "seat him on his end. I am ready; and do one of ye give the jhirnee."
They raised him up; and, as he was seated, his head again sunk on his shoulder, and some froth came from his mouth.
"He is dying," said Motee. "We ought not to touch him; it is forbidden."
"Not a bit of it," said I; "all drunken men are in this way; I have seen hundreds in the same state; so hold his head up, and give the jhirnee;" for I had taken my post behind him.
They did so. Peer Khan uttered the fatal words, and Ghuffoor Khan wrestled out his last agony under my never-failing gripe.
"Enough, Meer Sahib," said Peer Khan, who was holding his feet—"enough, he is dead."
"Ul-humd-ul-illa!" I exclaimed; "it is finished, blessed be the Prophet and Bhowanee! Go for the Lughaees; he must be put under ground immediately. Now for the Saees."
We left the Khan's body, and went out; the others were waiting for us. "Where does he lie?" I asked.
"There," said one of the men; "he is fast asleep, and has been so for an hour."