Z28Camaro6D9
Veteran Member
Three strangers at the Great Falls airport are awaiting their flights. One
is a Native American on his way to Helena for a statewide pow-wow. Another,
a ranch hand on his way to Billings for a stock show. The third passenger is
a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived, and on his way to study
nuclear engineering at Montana Tech.
To pass the time they strike up a conversation on recent events, and the
discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon the westerners learn that the Arab is a devout radical Muslim who
believes his people are justified in their 'holy' war.
The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowpoke 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 blows and blows and the old windsock flaps but no plane
comes. Finally, the Native American clears his throat and softly he speaks:
"Once, my people were many, now we are few."
The radical 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
Cowboy shifts the toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness
beneath his Stetson hat says, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and
Muslims, yet."
is a Native American on his way to Helena for a statewide pow-wow. Another,
a ranch hand on his way to Billings for a stock show. The third passenger is
a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived, and on his way to study
nuclear engineering at Montana Tech.
To pass the time they strike up a conversation on recent events, and the
discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon the westerners learn that the Arab is a devout radical Muslim who
believes his people are justified in their 'holy' war.
The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowpoke 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 blows and blows and the old windsock flaps but no plane
comes. Finally, the Native American clears his throat and softly he speaks:
"Once, my people were many, now we are few."
The radical 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
Cowboy shifts the toothpick to one side of his mouth and from the darkness
beneath his Stetson hat says, "That's 'cause we ain't played Cowboys and
Muslims, yet."
