[From Sogndal, Sogn (western Norway), 1842]
A hunter—his name, now, was Tore Nabben—was up in the mountains hunting. Night fell, and he went to sleep in a bunk in a seter. In the middle of the night he heard shouting from a hill: “Will you lend me that big cauldron? I want to cook ol’ Tore Nabben!” Then came the reply: “Yes, if I can taste the broth!” “’Fore the broth you can try, on the coals he will fry!”
Tore became frightened and hurried off as fast as he could. When he had come a bit on the way he met a gardvord with a pole on its back. Tore hurried even faster, and when he had come a bit farther on the way, he heard a terrible shrieking behind him. He dared not look back, but ran and ran until he came home. The next day he took his brother along and went back to the same place where he had been during the night. There they saw blood and all the other grisly things where the gardvord had beaten the troll to death.
*Gardvord is another name for tunkall.
