Hank Webster ran the general store in Broken Bow, and in one corner of the store, he also ran the post office. His duties as post master took up only a little of his time, since the stage coach came in only once a week to deliver the mail in a small pouch, and deliver outgoing mail. Frequently, because of hold-ups, letters bound for the east didn't go beyond the Badlands that began at the edge of town. For three days now, Hank had been increasingly uneasy, and had been pacing the floor, and every few minutes heading out to the front porch where his ten-year-old son sat listening to the tall tales of Hank's old friend, Idaho.