I shook myself, saying that the undoubted sinister feeling of utter
silence and lifelessness was compounded of my expectations and the time
of day. But that did not satisfy me. My aroused mind, casting about,
soon struck it: I was missing the swarms of blackbirds, linnets, purple
finches, and doves that made our own ranch trees vocal. Here were no
birds. Laughing at this simple explanation of my eerie feeling, I passed
under the gate and entered the courtyard.

It, too, seemed empty. A stable occupied all one side; the other three
were formed by bunk houses and necessary out-buildings. Here, too, dwelt
absolute solitude and absolute silence. It was uncanny, as though one
walked in a vacuum. Everything was neat and shut up and whitewashed and
apparently dead. There were no sounds or signs of occupancy. I was as
much alone as though I had been in the middle of an ocean. My mind, by
now abnormally sensitive and alert, leaped on this idea. For the same
reason, it insisted--lack of life: there were no birds here, not even
_flies_! Of course, said I, gone to bed in the cool of evening: why
should there be? I laughed aloud and hushed suddenly; and then nearly
jumped out of my skin. The thin blue curl of smoke had caught my eye;
and I became aware of the figure of a man seated on the ground, in the
shadow, leaning against the building. The curl of smoke was from his
cigarette. He was wrapped in a _serape_ which blended well with the cool
colour of shadow. My eyes were dazzled with the whitewash--natural
enough--yet the impression of solitude had been so complete. It was
uncanny, as though he had materialized out of the shadow itself. Silly
idea! I ranged my eye along the row of houses, and I saw three other
figures I had missed before, all broodingly immobile, all merged in
shadow, all watching me, all with the insubstantial air of having as I
looked taken body from thin air.