e wind was coming up, and we had no way to get
him to Oostpoort."

"Mmm," grunted Jan. He shifted uncomfortably and looked at the pair in
the corner. The blonde head was bent over the boy protectingly, and over
his mother's shoulder Diego's black eyes returned Jan's glance.

"If the disease has just started, the boy could wait for the next Earth
ship, couldn't he?" asked Jan.

"I said I had just diagnosed it, not that it had just started, _senor_,"
corrected Sanchez. "As you know, the trip to Earth takes 145 days and it
can be started only when the two planets are at the right position in
their orbits. Have you ever seen anyone die of the Venus Shadow?"

"Yes, I have," replied Jan in a low voice. He had seen two people die of
it, and it had not been pleasant.

Medical men thought it was a deficiency disease, but they had not traced
down the deficiency responsible. Treatment by vitamins, diet,
antibiotics, infrared and ultraviolet rays, all were useless. The only
thing that could arrest and cure the disease was removal from the dry,
cloud-hung surface of Venus and return to a moist, sunny climate on
Earth.

Without that treatment, once the typical mottled texture of the skin
appeared, the flesh rapidly deteriorated and fell away in chunks. The
victim remained unfevered and agonizingly conscious until the
degeneration reached a vital spot.

"If you have," said Sanchez, "you must realize that Diego cannot wait
for a later ship, if his life is to be saved. He must get to Earth at
once."

* * * * *

Jan puffed at the Heerenbaai-Tabak and cogitated. The place was aptly
named. It was a ratty community. The boy was a dark-skinned little
Spaniard--of Mexican origin, perhaps. But he was a boy, and a human
being.

A thought occurred to him. From what he had seen and heard, the entire
economy of Rathole could not support the tremendous expense of sending
the boy across the millions of miles to Earth by spaceship.

"Who's paying his passage?" he asked. "The Dutch Central Venus Company
isn't exactly a charitable institution."

"Your _Senor_ Dekker said that would be taken care of," replied Sanchez.

Jan relit his pipe silently, making a mental resolution that Dekker
wouldn't take care of it alone. Salaries for Venerian service were high,
and many of the men at Oostpoort would contribute readily to such a
cause.

"Who is Diego's father?" he asked.

"He was Ramon Murillo, a very good m