On April 14, 2015, FX aired the series finale of Justified, and television quietly lost one of its greatest creations: U.S. Marshal Raylan Givens. A decade later, Timothy Olyphant’s laconic, Stetson-wearing gunslinger still looms large — the rare character who feels both timeless and revolutionary, a modern Western hero who changed the rules of prestige TV forever.

Created by Graham Yost and adapted from Elmore Leonard’s short story “Fire in the Hole,” Justified dropped viewers into the coal-dusted hollers of Harlan County, Kentucky, where old feuds die hard and new ones start faster than you can draw. Raylan — exiled from Miami for shooting a cartel gunman in broad daylight — arrives back in his home state with a badge, a quick trigger finger, and a moral code as flexible as it is rigid. “You make me pull, I’ll put you down,” he warns, and you believe him every single time.

What made Raylan unforgettable wasn’t the body count (though it was considerable). It was the contradiction at his core: a lawman who solves problems the way outlaws do. Olyphant played him with a lazy smile that never quite reached his eyes, a drawl that could charm a snake or skin it alive. He was John Wayne filtered through Tarantino, Steve McQueen with a darker sense of humor. Critics still quote RogerEbert.com’s 2015 eulogy: “Raylan Givens is the best character television has produced this century.”

The supporting cast was flawless — Walton Goggins’ Boyd Crowder, Raylan’s silver-tongued nemesis and childhood “brother,” delivered Shakespearean monologues between stick-ups — but the show lived and died with Olyphant. He could convey a lifetime of regret in the tilt of a hat brim, or make murder feel like justice with a single “Well…” Every showdown felt inevitable, every quiet moment earned.

Justified arrived just as the anti-hero wave crested. Walter White was cooking meth, Don Draper was lying to everyone, Tony Soprano was in therapy. Raylan was different: a good guy who did bad things for (mostly) good reasons. He didn’t want to be a monster — he just refused to let monsters walk. In a post-9/11 America obsessed with moral clarity, Raylan offered something more honest: moral ambiguity with a code.

The revival Justified: City Primeval (2023) proved the magic hadn’t faded. Olyphant, now pushing 50, slipped back into the boots like no time had passed, facing down Detroit lowlifes with the same weary swagger. Critics called it “lightning in a bottle, again.” But for many, nothing will top the original run’s finale — Raylan and Boyd behind glass, trading truths instead of bullets, ending not with a bang but with the quiet devastation of two men who finally understood each other.

Ten years on, Raylan Givens endures because he feels real in a way few TV lawmen do. He’s not invincible; he’s just too stubborn to die. He’s not noble; he’s just too proud to run. And in Timothy Olyphant’s hands, he became something rarer than a great character — he became a legend you believe could walk into a bar tonight, tip his hat, and ruin someone’s whole day with a smile.

The West may be gone, but Raylan Givens never left. And television is better for it.