Our next stopping-place was the small town of Andaray, whose thatched houses are built chiefly of stone plastered with mud.  Near it we encountered two men with a mule, which they said they were taking into town to sell and were willing to dispose of cheaply.  The Tejadas could not resist the temptation to buy a good animal at a bargain, although the circumstances were suspicious.  Drawing on us for six gold sovereigns, they smilingly added the new mule to the pack train; only to discover on reaching Chuquibamba that they had purchased it from thieves.  We were able to clear our arrieros of any complicity in the theft.  Nevertheless, the owner of the stolen mule was unwilling to pay anything for its return.  So they lost their bargain and their gold.  We spent one night in Chuquibamba, with our friend Senor Benavides, the sub-prefect, and once more took up the well-traveled route to Arequipa.  We left the Majes Valley in the afternoon and, as before, spent the night crossing the desert.

About three o’clock in the morning—­after we had been jogging steadily along for about twelve hours in the dark and quiet of the night, the only sound the shuffle of the mules’ feet in the sand, the only sight an occasional crescent-shaped dune, dimly visible in the starlight—­the eastern horizon began to be faintly illumined.  The moon had long since set.  Could this be the approach of dawn?  Sunrise was not due for at least two hours.  In the tropics there is little twilight preceding the day; “the dawn comes up like thunder.”  Surely the moon could not be going to rise again!  What could be the meaning of the rapidly brightening eastern sky?  While we watched and marveled, the pure white light grew brighter and brighter, until we cried out in ecstasy as a dazzling luminary rose majestically above the horizon.  A splendor, neither of the sun nor of the moon, shone upon us.  It was the morning star.  For sheer beauty, “divine, enchanting ravishment,” Venus that day surpassed anything I have ever seen.  In the words of the great Eastern poet, who had often seen such a sight in the deserts of Asia, “the morning stars sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy.”

CHAPTER V

Titicaca

Arequipa is one of the pleasantest places in the world:  mountain air, bright sunshine, warm days, cool nights, and a sparkling atmosphere dear to the hearts of star-gazers.  The city lies on a plateau, surrounded by mighty snow-capped volcanoes, Chachani (20,000 ft.), El Misti (19,000 ft.), and Pichu Pichu (18,000 ft.).  Arequipa has only one nightmare—­earthquakes.  About twice in a century the spirits of the sleeping volcanoes stir, roll over, and go to sleep again.  But they shake the bed!  And Arequipa rests on their bed.  The possibility of a “terremoto” is always present in the subconscious mind of the Arequipeno.