"Go on, Marshy run! What's wrong with you? Go harder," I yelled to Ken, who was in hot pursuit of one large lamb.

"I am going hard" he shouted back. "I can't get near the beggar!"

"I've got him!...I've got him!" Mark roared with triumph as he raced down the slope, tripped and fell flat as the sheep he was chasing took a sudden ninety degree swerve and easily avoided his outstretched hand.

After that straight forward approach failed, we decided to get a bit cunning.

"HE CAN'T SHEAR like that." Albie exclaimed. "I have seen blokes shear in all sorts of outfits and in different ways, and I've even seen one fellow shear bare-foot. But I've never seen anyone shear like that.

"Don't worry, he can shear alright," said Laurie. "You just watch him."

So we did.

He walked into the catching pen, grabbed a ewe and dragged it out onto the board, picked up the handpiece and started to shear. I stared in amazement as began to peel the wool of the sheep's belly.

All this with a hand and half an arm missing.

The front gate of the farm was closed but it wasn't locked. As I drove up the driveway and parked in the house yard, I couldn't see any sign of activity. The backdoor of the house was locked and everything seemed in place in the sheds. I checked the stud shed, and all the sheep seemed quiet and settled, but there was no sign of Albie.

The gate to the top paddock was half open, so I walked through and up into the old quarry. Albie's Falcon utility was parked in the middle of the big flat area and the driver's door was open, but there was no sign of Albie. He loved his ute - he would never leave it open. Where was he? I suddenly had a horrible premonition.