On the table are cartridges, lamb bone, field map, summary, bridle, loaf of bread. At the table sits Nikolka Kosheva, squadron commander, he fills out a questionnaire. “The rough sheet sparingly says: Nikolay Kosheva. Squadron commander. Excavator. Member of the RKSM, age 18 years. " It looks like a green boy, but managed to eliminate two gangs almost without damage and for six months he led the squadron into battles and battles no worse than any old commander. Nikolka hates his age, is ashamed of him.
Nikolka’s father is a Cossack, and Nikolka himself is also a Cossack. He recalls how, at the age of five or six, his father mounted his horse, taught him to ride a horse. In the "German" father disappeared. Mother is dead. From his father Nicholas inherited a love of horses, incredible courage and a mole with a pigeon egg on his left leg above the ankle. At fifteen, Nikolka left with the Reds on Wrangel.
Nikolka lodges in a hut, standing above the very Don. In the morning he went out into the yard and lay down in the dewy grass. A Cossack came for him and reported that a special messenger had arrived, reporting a new gang from the Salsky District, which had already occupied the Grushinsky state farm. The expert rode forty miles without rest, drove the horse to death. Nikolka read the order to go to the rescue. He began to gather, thinking that it would not hurt to learn somewhere, but then a gang appeared. Tired of such a life for Nikolka, but there is nothing to do, there is an order from the commander.
Three days the gang leaves from pursuit of Nikolka Koshevoy's detachment. The people in the gang are experienced, leaving like a wolf. Ataman is drunk, and all the coachman and machine gunners are drunk. For seven years, the chieftain was not in his native land: at first he was in German captivity, then at Wrangel, he went into Turkish territory, but then returned with a gang. “Here it is, ataman's life, if you look back over your shoulder. His soul became reddened, as in summer the traces in the steppe stale ... The pain is wonderful and incomprehensible, it sharpens from the inside, pours muscles with nausea, and the ataman feels: do not forget it and do not fill the limestone with any moonshine. ”
Frost hit the dawn. Miller Lukich was ill, on a bee-keeper he lay down to rest; when he woke up, two military men who had left the forest hailed him. Ataman pretended to be red and began to find out at the miller if there were any strangers nearby. He went down from the horse and admitted that he was liquidating the reds, then he demanded grain for the horses. The miller is sorry for the grain collected by crumbs, I do not want to give; the chieftain threatens to kill him for aiding Red. The old man was lying at his feet, asking for mercy. Ataman laughing forgiven the old man. And the bandits who arrived have already fed horses with grain, spilling gold grains under their feet.
Through the fog on the dawn, Lukic moved to the farm and hit the horse, who led him to the commander. Lukich was brought into the hut to Nikolka. The miller was glad that he had come to the red. He recalled to Nikolka how recently he had given him milk to drink when his detachment drove past the mill. The miller complains about the bandits who poisoned all the grain from him. Reports that they are still at the mill, drunk, sleeping. Nikolka orders to ride horses and attack a gang that has already acted on a hat (road).
Ataman saw the commander riding on him with a saber, which he identified by binoculars hanging on the chest of a young soldier. Ataman angrily aimed and fired. The horse near Nikolka fell, and he himself, shooting, ran closer to the chieftain. Ataman waited for Nikolka to shoot a clip, and then he hit a guy with a kite. He waved his saber, and Nikolka's body went limp, crawled to the ground. Ataman removed binoculars and chrome boots from the murdered man. Pulling off his boots with socks with difficulty, the chieftain saw a mole. He turned Nikolka to his face and cried: “Son! Nikolushka! Native! My bloodthirsty ... ”Ataman, realizing that he had killed his son, took out a revolver and shot himself in the mouth.
And in the evening, when the horse loomed over the coppice, a vulture kite burst from the ataman’s head.
