" Ruth stormed away. She hated the Indians and prayed constantly not to hate her fellow captives as well. They were becoming Indian lovers. Only the stupefied Eliza had avoided it--and that was because she loved Indians so much she had married one. Ruth could not stand the sight of her own Indian, whose Mohawk name Mercy said meant "Otter." Ruth could not bear to think that Otter owned her, but the other captives easily referred to their Indians as their masters. Every time Ruth had to step into the woods and be private for a few minutes, she walked farther than she needed to and stayed longer. Now she stomped off the lake and into the hated forest. If only she dared escape. The closer they got to Canada, the more desperate Ruth felt. She could not be a slave, she could not be an Indian, she could not-- Her foot reached the edge of a crag she had not seen and did not expect. In the moment of pitching over the cliff, Ruth abandoned hate and thought only of life. She scrabbled frantically. She was just flesh that wanted to go on breathing, and instead would be smashed bones on rocks below. "No!" she cried. "Please, Lord!" The hand that closed around her and kept her from going over was the hand of the Indian who had slain her father. For a moment they stood balanced on the icy rim, until Ruth let her anger come back. "You murderer," she said, spitting on Otter. "I should have let myself fall before I let you catch me!" She jerked free and shoved him away. He fell soundlessly over the precipice."