Three strangers at a small terminal in Texas are awaiting their connecting flight. One is a Native American Indian heading to Oklahoma. Another, a local ranch hand on his way to Fort Worth, the third passenger is a fundamentalist Arab student, newly arrived from the Middle East.

To pass the time they strike up a conversation and the discussion drifts to their diverse cultures. Soon the Westerners learn that the Arab is a devout, radical Muslim. The conversation falls into an uneasy lull. The cowpoke leans back in his chair, crosses his boots and tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face.

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 Texan shifts the 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.\"