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
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 a-comin'".