," said Marcus as he went to answer the door.Maurice got up and went to the door also as he wasn't expecting and other 'guests.' He saw that there was...another Negro at the door. His face looked familiar but Maurice couldn't place it."Marcus, my man. How's it hanging?" the black man said as he did one of those black handshake kind of things called the 'Dap.'"It's good, Bro. It's all good. Oh my, where are my manners? Let me introduce you to our host. Tyrone, this is Mr. Maurice Smith, Esquire.. While two took care of the gear, the third, a giant at nearly seven feet in height, gathered up the limp Colleen from the middle of the camp and the black bodies. Wrapping her up in a blanket he snuck back to his companions and passed her up to one of them and proceeded to climb his own mount.Slowly and quietly they had the horses creep out of the camp area and continued at this slow pace until they felt that they were out of earshot. Then they went on their way, not yet knowing where they. .."He smirks. "Please what?" he prods. It's slower now. He can feel the sheen of sweat on his back. He laps up a few tiny beads from her forehead. He finds her dark eyes with his. "Please what, Bela?"She grips his forearms. "Please, Sam," she husks. "More..." Mmm," he teases, picking up the pace just slightly. "More of this?" he asks, things leisurely and casual. He watches her eyes widen and close, sees the way she nibbles at her lower lip.He can see she's getting close and he wants to watch. The wind was calm now, but there were heavy clouds – portending snow.But even her fears could not keep her poor tired body awake any longer. The beating and the cold had taken their toll on her, and she closed her eyes and was soon unconscious. It had started to snow, but she was unaware of that.A short time later a gray shape emerged from the tree line near the manor. He was a man, short but broad, well built and muscular even in his old age. His clothes were a little tattered but warm. The.