“Run!” ejaculated Billy, in huge scorn. “Whatever for? He can’t move, bless you. He’s done—his back’s broken.”
“Rather! He’d be a mile away by now if I hadn’t.”
“But you couldn’t break it with a little hit like that!”
“Oh, well, I s’pose you know all about it!” Billy uttered. “Think I never killed a snake before? How many’ve you killed yourself, I’d like to know? That chap’s never going to bite any one again, anyhow!”
Indeed, “moving” was a mild term to apply to the struggles of the black snake.
“’Course he’s moving, you little silly!” said Billy, in superb scorn. “But he isn’t getting anywhere, is he? Only his head ’n’ his tail’s moving: ’n’ that’s only what’s called nerfs. Nerfs are things that keep wriggling long after a snake’s dead.”
“Well, he isn’t if you go near the business end of him,” Billy answered, keenly pleased with his mastery of the situation. Rex could beat him at boxing, but when it came to dealing with a snake, he, too, was evidently a prey to “nerfs.” “Only no one but an idjit goes near a snake’s head, even if he’s dead. Father puts his heel on the heads of the snakes he kills, but he made me promise not to. That chap’s back’s broken, an’ he couldn’t never move from where he is till he died. ’Course, it would be cruel not to finish killing him: I’d have finished ever so long ago if you hadn’t kept grabbing at me!”
His stick sang in the air again, and came down just behind the snake’s head.
“That’s done for a lot of his ole nerfs!” said Billy, darkly. He continued the slaying of the reptile, with the thoroughness dear to every boy.
“’Tisn’t hard. You have a hit and see if it is. You only got to keep your hair on an’ hit straight.”
“Can I really?” Rex asked. Gingerly he took the stick and whacked the unpleasant remnant of the snake.
“It isn’t hard, is it? Do you think I killed a bit of him?” he asked, his face glowing.
“Oh, I s’pecs you did,” admitted Billy, who felt he could afford to be generous. “Now you can say you aren’t quite a new-chum any more. Next snake we meet you’ll have to tackle on your own!”
“Shall I, really? I believe I’d be scared.”
“Not you. It’s dead easy. Why, I killed my first when I was six, and you’re nine!” They moved on, Rex feeling that the sum of his out-back experiences had been considerably developed.