Who else would dare to lift his voice in that way in the gorge?
You could hear the words presently: "Ill-bred Somali beast! Born among vermin in a black man's kraal! Allah give thee to the crows! Weary?
What of it?
What of my back, thou awkward earthquake! Thou plow-beast! A devil sit on thee! A devil drive thee! A devil eat thee!" _Whack! Whack!_ "Oh my bones! My old bones!" Mujrim was the first to recognize the voice.

He got up quietly and stood in the gorge; and in another minute a blot of denser blackness that was a camel loomed above him, and he raised his hand to seize the head-rope.

But the camel saw him first, and, realizing that the journey was over at last, flung itself to the ground with the abandon of a foundered dog, and lay with its neck stretched out straight and legs all straddled anyhow.

Mujrim was just in time to catch his father, who was nearly as tired as the camel.

It was pretty obvious at once that Jael's authority had failed badly when it came to exchanging camels.
The sons all surrounded the old man and made a fuss over him, laying him down on a sheepskin coat and chafing his stiff muscles, calling him brave names, rubbing his feet, patting his hands, praising him, while he swore at them each time they touched a sore spot.
They would not even give him a chance to hand over his letter to Grim, until at last he swore so savagely that Mujrim paid attention and took the letter out of the old man's waistcloth.