were

when Keilin found himself poked sharply in the ribs. Opening his eyes he saw the old man prodding him with his spear butt. “On your feet, boyo. Cain’t sleep all day. Move your tail if you want to eat.”
Keilin staggered up, rubbing his wide eyes. “I . . . I’m sorry . . . I must have fallen asleep.”
The old man cackled. “If you hadn’t been snorin’ I’d’a thought you was dead, kid. Sleep like that and you will be. Here . . . drink this.” He handed Keilin a small mug full of bitter hot brew. The boy gagged at the first mouthful. He found the spear was against his chest. “Drink it!” The voice was deadly. Keilin swallowed.
The old fellow relaxed. The spear point dropped. “All right, boy. Let’s go. We’ve got to get the traps set before it gets light.”
Keilin’s jaw dropped. “But . . . why? Why did I have to drink that foul stuff first?”
The old man looked discomforted. “You needed it.” He set his mouth in a hard, thin line. “Now come on. Let’s move. We want to get the traps set.”
They were simple drop traps: a wire cage with a door which fell shut behind the bird. At the back of each cage was a mirror. Marou carefully scattered a few seeds outside the cage. Inside it, in front of the mirror, he put a generous pile of seed. “Ol’ sand grouse, he’s a mighty suspeecious feller. Put the biggest trail o’ seed into that cage, an’ ’e still won’t go in. But when ’e sees that other fowl in there a‑pecking away at a big pile o’ seed while he’s getting mighty thin pickin’s . . .
“Now, let’s get breakfast. There’s a good slope that hasn’t bin worked for a good while.”
Keilin’s stomach rumbled in agreement. He was somewhat less keen when he discovered that breakfast was to be caught by turning over stones on the hillside. “If they’ve got small claws an’ fat stings, leave ’em, son,” said his mentor, catching a large-clawed two-inch gleaming bronzy carapaced monster with his old deft hands. He plucked the stinger off, and crunched the beast between strong teeth. Keilin turned pale. As a street brat he’d eaten damn near anything he could scavenge. Fried rat was perfectly acceptable . . . in fact, quite tasty, but . . . raw live scorpion! Gingerly he turned over the next rock. It was