Old Dog
Gold Member
> Three strangers strike up a conversation in the
> airport passenger
> lounge in Bozeman, Montana, awaiting their 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 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 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
> drawl, "That's
> 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet, but
> I do believe it's
> a-comin'."
>
> airport passenger
> lounge in Bozeman, Montana, awaiting their 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 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 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
> drawl, "That's
> 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet, but
> I do believe it's
> a-comin'."
>
