Three strangers at a small terminal in the Texas Panhandle, are awaiting their shuttle flight. One is an American Indian passing through from Oklahoma. Another, a local ranch hand on his way to Fort Worth for a stock show. The third passenger is a fundamentalist 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 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 on a magazine table, tips his big sweat-stained hat forward over his face. The wind outside blows tumbleweeds and the old windsock flaps.
Finally, the American Indian 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 cuz we ain't played cowboys and Muslims yet."