The little village of [Narga, which means a "graveyard" in Tungus] consisted of eight houses. I knocked eight gates and heard from behind of eight stockades out of thick logs, "Blast off! Or else I'll let the dogs loose!"  And grim yelp of many bandogs... Being reduced to a pulp I collapse on a woodblock at the last gates... Perish in taiga is understandable. But to die on a threshold of the house where people live? But are they people?!
[And exiles' stories about locals hunting people like beasts come to mind. If they caught a poor one he was give to authorities for a reward. But if a poor devil had some things they killed him!]