On our way back to the town through the hot sun, I picked some sage leaves that grew beside the path and gave them to you to put in your hat so that you might not get a headache.

You smiled and caught my hand, and we made up." Ibarra smiled with happiness as he opened his pocketbook and took from it a piece of paper in which were wrapped some dry, blackened leaves which gave off a sweet odor.

"Your sage leaves," he said, in answer to her inquiring look.

"This is all that you have ever given me." She in turn snatched from her bosom a little pouch of white satin.

"You must not touch this," she said, tapping the palm of his hand lightly.