The Golden Enemy by Alexander Key Page A

gate and went through. Years ago, when Doubtful was a pup, this place had been home.
    As the gate clicked shut behind him he glimpsed what might have been a chipmunk darting for cover down by the side of the house, and he wondered if it could be old Scatterbrain or one of his family. Probably not, but it made him feel better to see life about.
    He moved on up to the terrace, and suddenly paused, smiling. A huge toad sat there at the edge of the sunlight, waiting for flies. “Hi, Warts,” he said, and stooped and touched the toad, whom he’d known for years.
    Warts was too limited to do more than blink at him by way of recognition, but it was a welcoming blink and it wiped away some of Boy Jaim’s feeling of lostness.
    Someone, he realized, had been here and swept the terrace and aired out the house recently, for the front windows under the terrace shelter were open, and there was no litter on the flagstones. He unlatched the front door and entered. The house had been dusted and the big front room looked as inviting as if his parents still lived here. Who could have cleaned the place? L’Mara? But of course. No one else would have bothered. Someday, it was understood, this would be L’Mara’s home as well as his own.
    A small, muffled sound drew him through the house and down a flight of stone stairs to the lower level which, as in all the older homes, had been cut deep into the hillside. Before he reached the dimness below, wall lights came on automatically and sent a glow through the cavelike openings ahead. It surprised him to find that the solar electric system, built into the roof, still worked.
    A little flash of movement jerked him to the left. Abruptly he cried, “Scatterbrain—hey! Don’t run off! Don’t you know me?”
    The chipmunk stopped, and one bright eye peered at him curiously and suspiciously from the safety of a corner. He spoke again. Now Scatterbrain slowly approached and suddenly threw himself upon him, chittering and making a great fuss of recognition.
    Something fell from a stuffed cheek pouch to the floor. Boy Jaim picked it up. It was a bean. A trail of beans, he saw, led across the floor to a storeroom where dried foods had always been kept. Scatterbrain, he soon discovered, had broken several jars of beans by pushing them from a shelf and had been busy hiding the contents in the ground outside.
    â€œBut why?” Boy Jaim asked. “Don’t you know it’s too early to be burying things? Especially beans!”
    â€œNo, no, no!” Scatterbrain chitter-chattered. “Need food!”
    â€œBut there’s plenty of food everywhere! Why, the nut trees are loaded—or haven’t you noticed? Besides, you’re wasting your time, burying the beans now. It’s midsummer. They’ll all sprout.”
    â€œNo, no, no! Need food. Must hurry.”
    Scatterbrain rushed away and vanished through some secret hole that let him out to the rocky hillside. In seconds he returned with empty cheek pouches. Boy Jaim watched him thoughtfully as he gathered more beans and flashed away again. Scatterbrain might be flighty and excitable and have a little difficulty communicating, but he wasn’t stupid. Not a bit. He knew exactly what he was doing, though it didn’t seem to make sense. What was driving him?
    As the chipmunk came back the second time, Boy Jaim asked, “Have you heard about the Golden One?”
    Scatterbrain paused and chittered questions.
    After several exchanges, Boy Jaim gathered that Scatterbrain was aware of something very unpleasant in the air, but hadn’t learned what it was. Did it have anything to do with hiding winter food so early? Scatterbrain didn’t know. All he knew was that the future looked very bad, and that everyone must gather food.
    Frowning, Boy Jaim turned to a cubbyhole on the right and sat down in a chair facing a desk. What was going to happen? Even old Emmon had said that there was