Three strangers strike up a conversation in the passenger lounge in<br />Boozeman,Montana, awaiting their flights.One is an American Indian<br />Passing through from Lame Deer. Another, a cowboy on his way to Billings<br />for a stock show. The third passenger is a fundamentaliast Arab student,<br />newly arrived at Montana State University from the Middle East.<br />Their discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.Soon the two <br />Westerners learn that the Arab is a devot, radical Muslim. The conversation falls into<br />an uneasy lull. The cowboy leans back in his chair<br />, crosses his boots on a magazine table, tips his<br />big sweat-stained hat forward over his face.<br />The wind outside blows tumbleweeds, and the old windsock flaps; but no plane comes.<br />Finally, the American Indian clears his throught and soflty speaks:<br />Once, my people were many, now we are few.<br />The Arab student raises an eyebrow and leans forward.<br />"Once my people were few",he sneers,"and now we are many." "Why do you suppose that is?"<br />The Montana cowboy shifts his toothpick to one side of his mouth<br />and from the darkness beneath his stetson says in a drawl.<br />"That's cause we ain't played cowboys and Arabs yet".
and Arabs 
