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They did not expect the sight which greeted them. Between the house and barn, a man toiled over a shallow grave, his work with the shovel slow going. Every other spade full or so he stopped to blot his eyes against a filthy shirt cuff. Near him stood two boys, one about six years old, the other perhaps ten, the younger sobbing, the older standing stiff and silent.
Doc and Wyatt rode up to the house and tied their horses to the hitching post. On the narrow porch and covered by a blood soaked quilt were what appeared to be two bodies. While Wyatt checked, Doc walked over to where the farmer labored. Oddly enough, no one paid any attention to his approach and he waited in silence, hat in hand, for Earp.
In the nearby corral stood a sorry looking gray gelding, its condition in vivid contrast to its well tended surroundings. Healed scars as well as new wounds made by sharp-roweled spurs scored the animal's flanks, and the horse hung its head in misery, too dull even to swat the flies which worried its open sores. Lifeless eyes watched the proceedings with little interest.
At Wyatt's approach Doc turned, Earp leaning in close to whisper his findings, "A boy of about twelve and his mother, hacked to death." He paused, taking a deep breath, the pain reflected in his eyes more revealing than words, "just like in Dodge, exactly like in Dodge."
"We're on the right track then," Doc answered.
"We're on the right track," Wyatt replied.
The marshals took over the grave digging from the exhausted farmer. In darkness they finished and in darkness the bodies of a woman and her son were put into the ground. Like the young mother in Dodge, they would find no peace untiltheir killers found justice.