‘They are close upon us!’ cried the maiden, glancing behind, ‘you must throw the pin.’
So Dschemil took the pin from his cloak and threw it behind him, and a dense thicket of thorns sprang up round them, which the ogre and his dog could not pass through.
‘I will get through it somehow, if I burrow underground,’ cried he, and very soon he and the dog were on the other side.
‘Cousin,’ said Dschemila, ‘they are close to us now.’
‘Go on in front, and fear nothing,’ replied Dschemil.
So she ran on a little way, and then stopped.
‘He is only a few yards away now,’ she said, and Dschemil flung the hatchet on the ground, and it turned into a lake.
‘I will drink, and my dog shall drink, till it is dry,’ shrieked the ogre, and the dog drank so much that it burst and died. But the ogre did not stop for that, and soon the whole lake was nearly dry. Then he exclaimed, ‘Dschemila, let your head become a donkey’s head, and your hair fur!’
But when it was done, Dschemil looked at her in horror, and said, ‘She is really a donkey, and not a woman at all!’
And he left her, and went home.