There was another five minutes when the only sounds our parade made were the every-once-in-a-while clomp when one of the horse’s shoes hit a stone and the shushing sound the travois made as it was pulled along.

I figured the mayor was through talking. I guess it was too painful for him.

Another ten minutes passed before he surprised me. “Your mother was only a babe back then, Benji, back during the Civil War in the States. Everybody who was old enough was going to America and enlisting in Mr. Lincoln’s army.

“Cooter always did look younger than he was, so ’stead of enlisting him as a soldier, they took him on as a drummer boy. He joined up with the Sixth Regiment United States Colored.

“He never would talk about it, but he had some times in that war that no one should ever have to go through. No one. Especially no one as kind as Cooter.

“From what other folk told me, I pieced together that Cooter had done something very brave in a battle. It’s one of those things that never make the history books, but he come out of it a hero. The government of the United States gave him a huge ceremony, said he was the bravest coloured man in the army. Gave him ribbons and medals and all sorts of gifts. They wanted him to travel ’round the country talking to other coloured folk to convince them to join the army. He said he’d do it, but he wanted to come home to Buxton for a bit first. Told them that with his head as fogged up as it was, he needed to go where he knew he could clear it some.

“We thought for sure something horrible had happened to him. He was supposed to catch the train from Washington to Detroit, then from Windsor on up to Buxton. I remember how folks had everything set up to welcome him, but when the train pulled in, no Cooter. No message and no Cooter. We waited outside every train for a week afore we give up on him.

“Thought for sure he got waylaid somewhere. Folks speculated he had to be dead, ’cause otherwise why didn’t he come home? How come he didn’t send word?

“It was just last month he told me how come he wasn’t on that train. Said back in eighteen hundred and sixty-five, when he was going from Washington to Detroit to get to Buxton, he got the first chance to be alone and think. Told me he had time to see through most of the fog and knew he couldn’t come home. Said he knew he wasn’t a hero; he was the opposite and was deeply ashamed. Just walked off the train in Pennsylvania.

“It was nine years later he finally found his way back home to Buxton. Folks were so pleased to see him, they wanted to throw him that same parade and picnic we’d planned near a decade afore. Still wanted to celebrate him fighting for us, let him know he was Buxton’s biggest hero.

“I could tell he was ’bout split in two over all the attention. Buxton had changed in that decade and Cooter had changed even more. They waren’t no match anymore. Cooter refused to let ’em celebrate anything about him, got peeved if you called him a hero. Wasn’t comforted being around most folk … no, he wasn’t comforted being ’round no one, so he lived in the woods.

“He never would tell me what happened. I found out later that he was in a fight called the Battle of Fort Pillow. Fought side by side with white Yankee soldiers and all of ’em got overrun by the rebs. The Confederates were horrible harsh on the white troops they captured, but they were beyond harsh on the coloured. They cut the scalp offen any of the black soldiers they found, dead or alive.

“I know when he first came back, Cooter told me he couldn’t sleep inside ’cause he kept hearing screams. He couldn’t get the sound out of his head. I figure it must be the sounds of those troops being murdered that plagued him.

“Best I can figure, that’s what set him off to go into the woods the way he did.”

I wondered if Mr. Swan had told anyone about the Madman getting scalped. Probably not. He was one of the people who always looked to protect him. I wouldn’t say anything either.

We rode on in silence.

Before long, the mayor said, “It waren’t but in the last year that something changed. He started coming out of the woods whilst I was in the fields and began talking to me. Giving me bits and pieces ’bout what happened in the war, going over old times in Buxton.

“Seemed he knowed his time was short. He didn’t say the words di-rect, but every time we’d talk, I knew Cooter’s words had a lot of good-bye in ’em. I caint tell if he was just looking for some companionship or looking to get some things offen his mind. Whatever, he was slow and gentle ’bout doing it, like he used to be ’bout everything.”

We finally broke out of the woods and were on the road to Buxton. Since we could go faster without jostling the mayor’s friend too much, we’d be home in half an hour.