So Charging Elk had entered this city in triumph and the people had welcomed him. Now they looked at him with suspicion, even with hostility, just as the Americans did. But Charging Elk had quit these thoughts, and now, as he hurried through the dark street toward the Gare du Prado, he entertained no other thoughts and very little hope. And as he crossed the empty staging field, where the parade had formed itself, he felt the flicker of hope go out entirely. The station was dark, except for a small yellow light in a window.