Don Peterson

“ A wave of apprehension overcame Peter as he realized the old flip attitude of Mirestone's was coming back. That meant definite trouble, and Peter began to fear the consequences.
"So, why not pay me and leave?" he again ventured. "Or do you want something else?" Peter knew that he didn't need to ask that last question, for already he realized the grim experiment that was playing about in Mirestone's head.
"Yes. I just told you what I wanted. I want to see the hex on a human before I go."
"Why? You have your information. Why do you want to see it work on a man?" ”

“ Mirestone hurried after the Dutchman. Jerking at the halter the goat bleated in agony, prancing up and down frantically. Its eyes grew horribly bloodshot and finally closed. With a feeble, choking sigh, the animal dropped over on its side, its legs still twitching spasmodically. Mirestone bent over the hairy form and examined the head, now wet with perspiration.
"Nothing can be done for the beast?"
"No." Peter looked on with a touch of pity in his eyes, "Nothing can be done once the feather has turned red." ”

“ Mirestone broke the still atmosphere by putting forth a question that Peter somehow knew would be coming sooner or later.
"I wonder how the hex would react on a human being?"
Peter hoped to end the topic by answering him quickly and not beating around the bush trying to evade the question. "It would kill him eventually. Maybe not so quick as the goat, but it would kill him."
"What do you mean not as quickly as the goat—do you think it would take more time on a human?" ”

“ He slammed the door shut and threw his cloak on Peter's bed. There was one more bottle on the shelf; he smashed the neck and poured a glass. If one could see him bent over the table sending silent curses into his wine, he could readily imagine the feeling of defeat that had spread over Mirestone's countenance. The idiot of a Dutchman who had to play the hero's part and save other lives by ending his own made Mirestone fairly sick. However, all was not over. So the Dutchman had died; the hex had worked—a lot sooner than he had expected though. ”

“ Mirestone followed in the Dutchman's footsteps, and when they were inside, he listened intently as Peter recited a monosyllabic chant over the feather. "The chant is easy enough to learn," Peter assured him. "You will master it quickly." ”

“ Would he die quickly like the goat or would his death be prolonged over a period of days like Peter had suggested. He gripped himself. It wouldn't do to lose control of his senses. There must be a way out of the predicament. But Peter said that as soon as the feather turned red there was no turning back. Ah—there's the answer. The feather is still white ... there's still a chance.
Mirestone grabbed his cloak and raced for the door. He must get an animal—another goat, perhaps, and expose the feather to its breath. He must hurry lest the spell will start working. ”

“ He was a proud descendant of a long line of staunch German settlers commonly known as the Pennsylvania Dutch. He grew up in his fundamental, religious sect having never known any other environment. He was exposed to the sun, soil, and wind from the early days of his childhood, and along with the elements he also was exposed to the evils of the hexerei. The hexerei, or witchcraft, was something that was never doubted or scoffed at by his people. Then why should he, a good Pennsylvania Dutchman, doubt or scoff at such tradition? ”

“ Screaming hysterically he dropped the kid and fell forward into the door of the house. The latch gave way with his weight and he tumbled into the cottage.
Dancing madly on the end of a thread was a blood red feather. ”

“ When he went forth in the fields behind his horse and plow, it wasn't long before his hair was plastered down firmly to his scalp. The salty water poured out of the deep rings in his ruddy neck and ran down his dark brown back. As he grew older the skin peeled and grew loose. ”