Cowboys still exist
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 cow boy 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 he 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."
>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 cow boy 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 he 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."