THE LAST SHOT




I

A SPECK IN THE SKY


It was Marta who first saw the speck in the sky. Her outcry and her
bound from her seat at the tea-table brought her mother and Colonel
Westerling after her onto the lawn, where they became motionless
figures, screening their eyes with their hands. The newest and most
wonderful thing in the world at the time was this speck appearing above
the irregular horizon of the Brown range, in view of a landscape that
centuries of civilization had fertilized and cultivated and formed.

At the base of the range ran a line of white stone posts, placed by
international commissions of surveyors to the nicety of an inch's
variation. In the very direction of the speck's flight a spur of
foot-hills extended into the plain that stretched away to the Gray
range, distinct at the distance of thirty miles in the bright afternoon
light. Faithful to their part in refusing to climb, the white posts
circled around the spur, hugging the levels.

In the lap of the spur was La Tir, the old town, and on the other side
of the boundary lay South La Tir, the new town. Through both ran the