“You never broke it, did you?”
“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!”
“But he’s not dead! He’s moving!”
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.”
“But he isn’t safe!”
“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.