Three strangers strike up a conversation in the airport lounge in Bozeman ,
Montana , awaiting their flights.
One is an American Indian, passing thru from Deer Lodge. Another, a cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show. And the third a fundamentalist Muslim Arab student from the Middle East, newly arrived at Montana State University .
Discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. The two Westerners soon learn the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim and conversation drifts 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.
Outside, the wind is blowing tumbleweeds around and the old windsock is
flapping, but still no plane comes.
Finally, the American Indian clears his throat and speaking softly says, "At one
time here, my people were many, but sadly, now we are few."
The Muslim 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 and drawls, "That's 'cause we ain't
played Cowboys and Muslims yet, but I do believe it's a-comin'".