Homer
Long Time Member
- Messages
- 14,537
yes bess...I know...
"thanks Manny".....but here it is again....
Cowboys and Indians
Three strangers strike up a conversation in the airport lounge in Bozeman,
Montana, awaiting their flights.
One is an American Indian, passing thru from Lame Deer. Another is a
cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show. And the third is a
fundamentalist Arab student from the Middle East, newly arrived at Montana
State University. 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 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."
"thanks Manny".....but here it is again....
Cowboys and Indians
Three strangers strike up a conversation in the airport lounge in Bozeman,
Montana, awaiting their flights.
One is an American Indian, passing thru from Lame Deer. Another is a
cowboy on his way to Billings for a livestock show. And the third is a
fundamentalist Arab student from the Middle East, newly arrived at Montana
State University. 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 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."
