A cowboy, and indian, and a Muslim Extremist.
Three strangers strike up a conversation
in the airport passenger lounge in Bozeman , Montana,
while awaiting their respective flights
One is an American Indian passing through from Lame Deer.
Another is a cowboy on his way to Billings for
a livestock show and the third passenger is a
fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived at Montana State
University from the Middle East
Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon, the two Westerners learn that the Arab is a
devout, radical Muslim and the conversation falls
into an uneasy lull.
The cowboy leans back in his chair, crosses his
boots on a magazine table and tips his big
sweat-stained hat forward over his face.
The wind outside is blowing tumbleweeds around and
the old windsock is flapping; but still no plane
Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and
softly speaks, "At one time here, my people were
many, but sadly, now we are few."
The Muslim student raises an eyebrow and leans
forward, "Once my people were few," he sneers,
"and now we are many. Why do you suppose that is?"
The Montana cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side
of his mouth and from the darkness beneath his
Stetson says in a smooth drawl .
" That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims
yet, but I do believe it's a-comin'.