Peter went to a chest at the foot of his bed and drew out a small box of
sewing utensils. He broke off a piece of black thread and replaced the
box in the chest. "Now I'll show you what I mean," Peter spoke wearily
as he tied the feather with the thread and suspended it from one of the
rafters in the room. "Just sit and watch." It was not many minutes before a light red tint crept up the feather's
quill, spreading slowly outwards towards the fringed edges. Deeper and
deeper grew the intensity of the color until it reached a pure blood
red. "Hurry outside," cried Peter. "You can see the goat in its last seconds
of life." 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." As if the death of the kid was their cue, masses of thick thunderheads
turned over with a deep rumbling thunder. The sky became crystal clear,
and a greenish glow could be seen working its way across the horizon. The sky darkened as the glistening thunderheads now taking on an ominous
coloring warned the farmers of the impending storm. It was later that evening. Rain drummed against the slate roof of
Peter's house and reverberated through the rooms to where Mirestone and
the Dutchman sat by the fire in silence. 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?" "Perhaps. I have heard of cases in which the hex, once it was started,
dragged on for many days." "I see." Mirestone sat back again thinking to himself. Peter didn't like this. He wanted to get rid of Mirestone. "Well, you
have your information. I showed you how the hex works. So, why not pay
me and leave?" Mirestone got up and laughed in the Dutchman's face. Crossing to the
larder, he brought down a bottle, cracking the neck on the beam above,
just as he had done the night before. 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?" "My stupid, little peasant friend, do I look like a student of history?" For the first time Peter actually looked at Mirestone and saw him for
what he was. Of course, he couldn't be a student. No student would act
as he did, or even look as he did. The words jammed in his throat as he
was about to voice a reply. "Ha--Martin G. Mirestone, student of history, student of German history. No my little oxen friend. I am no more a student of history than you
are, but I need the hex for other reasons which do not concern you." Then as if he were contemplating a great new joke he continued. "But on
the other hand, maybe the future of the white feather hex does concern
you." Mirestone's voice was drowned out by a heavy rumbling of thunder and the
increased splashing of rain on the windows. But somehow Peter seemed not
to notice. *       *       *       *       *

Somewhat later Mirestone stepped quietly over to the sleeping form of
his host. Peter had been over twenty-four hours now without sleep, and
although the old Dutchman had tried desperately to fight off the
drowsiness that overcame him, the recent excitement of the day had
finally taken its toll. Lightning struck near by followed with an ear
splitting blast that shook the house to its rocky foundations. Pieces of
slate flew off the roof and were carried away into the night. The rain
poured down in a great deluge, blurring the window, making it impossible
to see in or out. Mirestone held out a glistening white feather in his long spidery
fingers. He placed it within a few inches of Peter's nose and watched
the delicate edges riffle in the Dutchman's breath. Crossing to the
table, he leaned over the white fluff and breathed the short German
incantation over it. How it glistened in the firelight! He bent closer
and closer as he whispered the magic words that Peter had taught him,
his breath ruffling the feather, playing about in the fringed softness. He hung up the feather by a thread and watched it hop back and forth in
the center of the room. *       *       *       *       *

Peter awakened and saw Mirestone sitting by the fire noting every
movement of the feather. "What are you doing, heh?" Mirestone swung around and glared at the bleary eyed Dutchman. "Sit
down," he commanded. "Sit down and watch the feather turn red." Peter didn't need to be told that it was his feather. He knew by the
merciless eyes of Mirestone that everything was over. "So, you were
determined to find out what would happen if the hex were tried on a
man?" Peter was surprised at how easily he took his fate. There was no need of
excitement--this was his end and there was no changing it. "Yes, I had to know, for I can't leave until I have a complete record of
all the results." Mirestone certainly was not cocky now. He looked
almost ashamed of himself as he sat there nervously watching a man's
fate swing by a silken thread. "I'm sorry, Peter, my friend, but that is
how it must be. You are a stepping stone to a glorious reckoning that
will soon take place. The hex of the white feather--I can hardly believe
that I have at last tracked it down. And you, Peter, are the last
witness, the last link in the chain of those who know the secret, and
how can it better end than by your becoming a part of the secret?" Peter realized that he had not much longer to live and nothing he could
do to Mirestone would change his fate. Perhaps he could save others,
though. "What is this glorious reckoning you were speaking about?" "As soon as I see how your case ends, I'll be able to go ahead and
release my vengeance on those stupid, bungling fools who have thwarted
my progress in the black arts. They claim to speak in the name of
humanity, no less!"