“I don’t think so, father. Look, it must be blind. It has battered its head horribly against the stone. I think it’s quite blind.”
“So it is, sir,” said Griggs. “There’s no more danger there, sir. Let him do it. We want him to be cool and ready for anything now.”
“May I do it, father?”
“Well, yes; but stand well at arm’s length, and give a good, careful, sweeping draw-cut with your knife.”
Chris eagerly handed his rein to his father, and then went cautiously towards the quivering reptile, which kept on rising up and falling down inert with a regular action, save that it grew more slow.
Chris drew near till he was almost within striking distance, and waited till the snake had risen to its greatest height, that is to say, about two feet above the stone and three feet in all from the sand on which the boy stood.
“Take care,” said the doctor.
Chris made an offer, as boys call it, cutting horizontally from his left shoulder, the knife flashing in the sunshine as it whished through the air, passing inches from the snake’s neck; but the motion of the air affected the reptile, which winced, dropped flat to the stone, and began to writhe frantically.
“Be careful, Chris; there’s a great deal of life in it yet.”
“That was only a try, father,” replied the boy; “I didn’t try to cut it. I will, though, now,” he continued, as the writhing ceased; but the battered head began to rise again slowly and steadily in the air till it was at its greatest elevation, and seemed to be kept up by a stiffening of the whole body.