Lololoshka cowboy

Lololoshka was returning to Red Pass after three months of absence when he heard gunshots near the old riverbed. The cowboy didn't spur Yantar on—he simply placed his hand on his Colt and steered his horse toward the sound at a leisurely pace.

Around the bend, a scene unfolded: three bandits were robbing a terrified merchant. One held the old man at gunpoint, two were rummaging through sacks. The cowboy stopped thirty paces away and drew his revolver, barrel down.

“Leave the man and go away,” the cowboy fired like a shot into the silence.

They laughed, and one stepped forward with a knife. The cowboy fired—the bullet knocked the hat off the man closest to him. The second tore the belt buckle off the man holding the trader. He took aim at the third. The bandits exchanged glances and vanished into the twilight.

He dismounted, helped the trader lift the wagon, and nodded silently in farewell. A horseman emerged from behind the rock—a young man with a gold star on his chest. The sheriff held a revolver and squinted.

"You let them go," Dylan hissed.

“The main thing is that the man is okay,” the cowboy said dryly .

The sheriff chuckled. He recognized him—not immediately, but the eyes were the same. Dylan had seen him as a boy, when Lololoshka wore a star and was the terror of the county. Now before him stood a man without insignia, with only a revolver and the calm of a seasoned veteran.