The gunshot could still be heard as Bo Johnston collapsed in the dust.

Smoke issued from Tom's .44 like a post-coital exhalation. Every
nerve humming, he stood poised, savoring the moment.

The moment passed. He smoothly holstered his gun.

Pinewood McGee stood expectantly under the awning of the saloon.
"Give 'im the wooden jacket, Piney," said Tom. Sunlight winked on his
silver star as he turned to go. "On the county's tab."

"Sure thing," McGee replied.

Tom climbed up on his horse. Tied crossways over the animal's
rump, his surfboard jostled. "Be back at sunset," he said over his shoulder.
He spurred his palomino and rode off.

Tom Chilton, sheriff of Surfside, had upheld the law once again.
That bit of unpleasantness out of the way, he could now return to his
more usual pastime.