By this time José was old enough to wear the typical costume of the men of the tribe. For a few years he had run naked, but not for long, and during the greater part of his boyhood had worn clothes of a nondescript character. But about the time of puberty, his mother made him a suit of white cotton cloth consisting of blouse and trousers. These were so much more comfortable than the tight trousers affected by the civilized Mexicans. Nevertheless, the laws of the nearby towns prohibited any one’s appearing in the streets in the flowing calzones, so in each Indian village was at least one pair of pantalones which were borrowed whenever any one wished to visit town. The trousers were upheld by a girdle of faja or wool, woven by his mother on a narrow loom with geometric designs in black and white. A little bag, woven of the same material, known as a costal, accompanied him wherever he went, for in this he carried all his little personal possessions and necessities, such as matches, tobacco and, at times, lunch, as well as the dozens of little knick-knacks dear to the heart of the boy. In the same way his forefathers carried their sticks to make fire, and his grandfathers their flint and steel. But in these enlightened days sulphur or wax matches were within the reach of even impecunious Mexican Indians, and José very early learned to smoke cigarettes made of locally grown tobacco rolled in corn husks. As likely as not he carried the “makin’s” on the broad brim of his sombrero, an immense peaked hat of the braided leaf of the agave. Sandals of rawhide completed his costume. The hat was extremely heavy, but it was the custom, so José wore it with pride. But his greatest pride was his machete, that great steel knife carried by every man, which served every imaginable purpose. No boy was ever half so proud of his first watch as was little José of his first machete.