 Why was Altha away from the other Hairy People of her kind?
But here in the cavern world, thirty-seventh in the linked series of vast caves that underlie the waterless wastes of Mars, the reflected waves of sound were of little value. Here at least the air was thick enough to support life, and somewhere nearby the outlaws who smuggled their precious contraband water into the water-starved domes of North Mars lay hidden. The outlaw headquarters might be close ahead, headquarters where renegade Frogs, Venusians from the southern sunken marshes of Mars, and Earthmen from dusty North Mars, concealed their precious hoard of water from the thirsty colonists of North Mars. Toward this barrier the spinner bore him, and Rolf was content to let it move in that direction—from the heights of the wall he could scout out the country beyond. The wall expanded as he came nearer to the pygmy planet. The spinner had slowed its speed; it seemed to Rolf that he must be falling free in space for a time, but the feeble gravity of the tiny world tugged at him more strongly as he neared the wall. Deftly Rolf nested the spinners again in their pack before he set out toward the heaped-up mass of stone blocks that was the wall. Ten steps he took before an excited voice called out shrilly from the rocks ahead. "Down, Altha," a deeper voice rumbled from above, "it's one of the Enemy." This mysterious world that floated above the cavern floor might be their headquarters.
 The outlaws had turned the others against her.
 The outlaws had turned the others against her.  She had left their group in fear of attacks.  The outlaws had stolen her.  She had been lost from their group and never reconnected.