“Oh,” said the blind man, “that is the Bába Yagá! Wait a little bit. We must deal with her in her own fashion. Tomorrow we must not go hunting: we will try to catch her in the house and to capture her.”

Next morning both of them went out. “Creep under the bench,” said the blind man to Katomá, and sit still. “I will go into the courtyard, and wait under the window. And you, Sister, sit down. If Bába Yagá comes, whilst you are combing her hair weave a part of her hair and hang the knot on to the window. I will then seize her by her grey tresses.” It was said and done. The blind man seized Bába Yagá by her grey tresses, and cried out, “Ho, Katomá! come out and hold the evil hag till I get into the hut.”

Bába Yagá heard it, and she wanted to lift her head and leap away, but she was unable. She tore and grumbled, but it was no good. Katomá crept out from the bank and turned round on her, threw himself on her like a mountain of iron. He strangled her until the heavens appeared to her as small as a sheepskin.