glow from the fireplace gradually died down to make room for the
streams of morning dawn. Peter blinked sleepily and got up to stretch a
bit. Outside the dull morning light worked its way over Peter's
farm--clouds of mist still poured up from the gorge, circling the bridge
and creeping up the bank across the fields. Peter unlatched the heavy
oaken door and went outside to the outbuildings.

Meanwhile, Mirestone had started a fire in the stove and was placing
slabs of bacon in the pan. "Nothing like a good old-fashioned peasant's
breakfast," he laughed as Peter came in the door several minutes later.
"So, you brought a goat, heh?" he noticed. "Are you figuring on starting
in soon?"

Peter set a small kid on the floor and watched it scamper about the
room, looking for an exit. "Yes, we might as well. I don't like this
business at all. I wish to get it over with as soon as possible,
and----" Peter eyed Mirestone squarely. "I expect to be paid well for my
trouble." He was trying to make himself believe that that was his only
reason for complying with Mirestone's demands. Actually he was not so
sure....

* * * * *

As the heat of the noon day sun blasted down on their backs, Mirestone
watched Peter pass a feather, freshly plucked from a white Leghorn,
under the nose of the bleating kid. Mirestone listened carefully to what
Peter was telling him. The breath of the victim had to be spread over
the feather before anything further could be done.

"Tie him," commanded Peter. Mirestone held the goat by the scruff of his
neck and fastened a halter about him. The other end was secured to a
stake allowing the kid to run about in a circle of ten feet or so in
diameter.

"We will leave him for awhile," said Peter as he walked back to the
kitchen.

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."

"I understand so far," Mirestone said.

"Then that is all," Peter finished, "except that you can hang the
feather up and watch it grow red."

"Red?"

"Yes," Peter explained, "That is the only way you can tell if the hex
has worked."

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