Cowboys and Indians

*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 a-comin**.”;*