Classic Westerns always tell a great story.

The old warrior and the girl prepare for the final battle.
The old warrior and the girl prepare for the final battle.

I WENT to the movies last night.

Don’t go to a lot of movies.

I saw a Western.

Don’t see a lot of Westerns anymore.

It was a damn fine story.

Most Westerns are.

And this one followed the classic formula.

There were a bunch of bad guys running loose.

They must have been outlaws and gunslingers hired by the ranchers.

That happened a lot.

Nesters were coming from the east.

So were homesteaders.

They were farmers.

They were occupying land that God had purposely set aside for the sole use of Ranchers.

After all, ranchers had cattle.

Cattle needed free range to graze.

Nesters were putting up barbed wire.

And even if they weren’t, the ranchers were afraid these poachers might someday fence off their open range.

So they quarreled.

They fought.

They argued.

They fought.

And after a while, they just fought.

The ranchers had the money.

The ranchers had the power.

The ranchers claimed the land.

The nesters were scattered.

They didn’t have the rifles.

They didn’t have the firepower.

The nesters had only one hope.

The gunfighter could save them.

He was their only hope.

But the last gunfighter was missing.

What had happened to him?

Don’t know.

Where had he gone?

Don’t know.

So the nesters and the homesteaders and the farmers gathered together to strike back one last time against impossible odds.

They were disorganized.

They were frightened.

Who among them would rise up and defend their rights?

Or did they have any rights?

The old warrior waits for the fight to begin.
The old warrior waits for the fight to begin.

Who was brave enough to stand against the mightiest gunslinger of all?

Or were they destined to simply blow away like the sands upon the desert.

Help came from the unlikeliest of places.

In Westerns, that’s where help always comes.

He was an old warrior.

He was weathered.

He was scarred by time and the battles he had fought so many years ago.

He had retired his guns.

He had lost his horse.

He only wanted a measure of peace.

But this was a land that knew no peace.

It was survival of the fittest.

To the victor would go the spoils.

The old warrior had one last fight in him.

It was now or never.

It was do or die.

Those who chose to fight with him weren’t warriors.

They came from the oppressed.

They came from the defeated.

One had once fought for the ranchers.

But he had fled them.

He was an outcast.

Another was a woman.

She was strong.

She was defiant.

For them all, it would be a battle unto death.

The fate of a universe hung in balance.

The fate of their world was in their hands.

The old warrior, an outcast, and a girl made their last stand.

It was a battle no one would ever forget.

I went to the movies last night.

I saw a Western.

They called it Star Wars.

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