“O, I am the big crooked one,” was the answer. And no matter where he took hold or where he set his foot, he could feel the coils of the crooked one laid around him.
“This is a poor place to be in,” thought Per Gynt, “for this crooked one is outside and inside; but I will soon put what is wrong to rights.” He took his firelock, went out again, and felt his way along the crooked one until he came to his head.
“And who are you really and truly?” he asked.
“O, I am the big crooked one of Etnedal,” said the monster troll. Then Per Gynt did not waste any time, but shot three bullets right through the middle of his head.
“Shoot again!” cried the crooked one. But Per Gynt knew better, for had he shot another time, the bullet would have rebounded and hit him. When this had been done, Per Gynt and his dogs took hold of the great troll, and dragged him out of the hut, so that they might make themselves comfortable there. And meanwhile the hills about rang with laughter and jeers. “Per Gynt pulled hard, but the dogs pulled harder!” rang in his ears.
In the morning Per Gynt went out hunting. When he had made his way far into the Fjäll, he saw a girl driving sheep and goats across a mountain-top. But when he reached the top of the mountain, the girl had vanished, as well as her flock, and all he saw was a great pack of bears.
“Never yet have I seen bears run together in packs,” thought Per Gynt. But when he came nearer, they all disappeared save one alone. Then a voice called from a nearby hill:
“Guard your boar, for understand,
Per Gynt is without,
With his firelock in his hand!”
“O, then it is the worse for Per Gynt; but not for my boar, because Per Gynt did not wash to-day,” sounded back from the hill. But Per Gynt spat on his hands, and washed them thus, and then shot the bear.
The hills rang with echoing laughter: