> Three strangers strike up a conversation in the airport lounge in
> Bozeman, Montana, awaiting their flights.
> One is an American Indian, passing thru from Lame Deer. Another is a
> cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show. And the third is a
> fundamentalist Arab student from the Middle East, newly arrived at
> Montana State University.
> 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 comes.
> 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 drawl, “That's 'cause
> we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet, but I do believe it's