The old man sat up watching the fire, the family, the horses, the stars…if there were nothing to watch he would still be awake. That’s what old men do – stay awake.

“Where are you going?” His grandson stopped and pointed into the darkness with his lips.

“To steal the Colonel’s horse.” said the boy, with humor in his eyes. The old man blinked slowly. When he opened his eyes his grandson was gone.

In the soldier's garden, the boy pulled up cornstalks by the roots. There were no sleepless old men watching things at the army camp, just young men who were worn out from running around all day. The boy threw some corn over the fence. The horses jumped a little at the noise, sniffed at the strange smell, but edged towards the sweet cornstalks and began munching.

Before he opened the gate, he worked mud into the alarm bells that were nailed to it. A bay mare walked up to him and nudged him, asking for some of the canes of corn he still held, she wasn’t the one he came for.

He had watched the Coronal’s horse for weeks. Now he gazed at the sorrel with four matching stockings and a white star that glowed in the moonlight. The boy talked to him softly, and offered him cornstalks. With gentle hands, he slipped the hackamore over the horse’s nose and the headstall over his ears, he led him toward the gate and effortlessly swung onto his back. They became the fastest shadow in the night.

The boy was standing on a crate, in a warehouse, with a rope around his neck that was anchored to the rafters. The old man was beside him. There were dozens of white men standing around to watch them die. “Do you have any last words?”

“That horse is mine-I took him with skill” said the boy. The rain beat harder on the tin roof “I just wanted to embarrass you.” A train roared by, drowning out his voice. ” You hang me because you are shamed?” the men couldn’t understand his language and began murmuring and chatting among themselves, not listening to the angry babbling young savage. He looked at the young boys who were sitting on their father’s shoulders. “You’re not people.” They kicked the box from under his feet.

They asked the old man if he had any last words. He shook his head. A cavalryman pulled away his box.