A look of mingled joy and awe came over the man’s face. “Madre de Dios! My son lives!” he cried. “You are an angel of mercy. You have brought him back to life!”
“Sí, Papá! They have performed a miracle!” the mother agreed, smiling through her tears.
Florence placed her hand over his heart, then she looked up at the parents, saying, “His heart very bad. It is necessary that you take him down from here immediately. It is too high up here.”
“Si—sí, señorita. Whatever you say I will do,” the father said.
Florence and Jo Ann lifted the boy gently and placed him, head lowered slightly, over his father’s shoulder.
As he began to shift the child into a more upright position, Florence spoke up quickly, “No, no—you carry him like this, and the blood will run to his head—then he will get better more quickly.”
“Bien,” the father assented, and started down the path at the easy rhythmical pace of the peon, Florence and Jo Ann following closely.
When they had gone a short distance, the mother caught up with them. “I come with my Pepito,” she said.
“Florence, what made you think that boy might not be dead?” Jo Ann asked a moment later.
“Daddy has told me of several cases like that one. Some people, he said, could not stand the high altitude. That boy was frail and undernourished to begin with, and I figured that the hard work and the high altitude combined were too much for him.”