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At a small terminal in the Texas Panhandle, three strangers are awaiting their shuttle flight.
One is a Native American passing through from Oklahoma.
Another, a local ranch hand on his way to
Ft. Worth for a stock show.
The third passenger is an Arab student,
newly arrived at the Texas oil patch from the Middle East.
To pass the time they strike up a conversation on
recent events, and the discussion drifts to their diverse cultures.
Soon
the Westerners learned that the Arab is a devout Muslim. The
conversation falls into an uneasy lull.
The cowpoke leans back in his chair, crosses his boots on a magazine table, tips his big sweat stained hat forward over his fce. The wind outside
blows tumbleweeds 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 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 Texan shifts the toothpick to one side of his
mouth and from the darkness beneath his Stetson says, "That's 'cause we
ain't played Cowboys and Muslims yet."
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Ya'll come back now, ya here...
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