She was old, then.
Her bones creaked, and her joints ached. She hopped more than she ran, and she didn't do much of that anymore. Her days of chasing deer and cats, of herding cattle and hunting pronghorn, had ended a long time ago.
Every time she saw her reflection, it seemed, more and more grey had streaked her face. Getting to her paws was a struggle, and even Uncle helped her up the stair sometimes. Where it had been forbidden to her before, Abigail let her up on the couch - even helped her up onto it.
She didn't hear so well anymore. Her back leg went lame in the hip months ago, and the sight in her right eye was going.
But still she kept Rufus in line, he still knew to listen to her. Even if her teeth were too dull to really bite him, and she couldn't throw him to the ground like she used to. When she's gone, he'll be well capable of taking care of them.
She'd been with them for four years.
They'd been some of the best years of her life. She'd watched John grow into a responsible, if hot tempered, man. Watched Jack grow into a teenager. He wasn't her little Jackie anymore, and she felt awful for her parents if she gave them half the trouble he did his.
But she'd been with them for four years. She came to them early in 1907, and it was late in 1911. If she'd been a smaller dog, she wouldn't have been able to help half so much. But four years wouldn't have aged her so.
And as 1911 neared its end, she knew she needed to be more vigilant than ever. It was never said how the Pinkertons got ahold of Jack and Abigail, but she could guess. When John left the ranch, she didn't go with him. When Uncle left the ranch, she didn't go with him either. She went with Abigail and Jack, clambered into the wagon and watched and listened as best she could, did her best to guard them even as her body failed her.
And around the ranch, she had taken up rounds. She bugged them until someone let her out, then paced slowly around the grounds for as long as she could. Her hearing was going, and she feared not hearing them until they were on top of them. But her hips were weak, and she couldn't walk for long, so when her legs began to buckle she made her way to the tree and laid down, basked in the sun as it warmed her bones.
She didn't let herself sleep. She couldn't hear the people riding by on the roads, so she had to keep watch. Look out for the Pinkertons, wait for them to get close and warn them. She didn't bark much anymore - never really did - so she knew it would make them come running, guns drawn.
But there was nothing she could do to stop him from catching the Pinkertons' eye. He'd used his real name on the loan, had gone on a rampage against Bell's Gang, had killed a Pinkerton information though she'd tried her best to stop all she could from the moment her paws had touched the dirt of West Elizabeth. His path had been set in stone the moment he took the loan.
So all she could do was try and cut things off at the root, and keep the Pinkertons from kidnapping Abigail and Jack.