Chapter 26: How it Ended begins with a quiet unease in the stillness of night. Black Beauty, standing alone and wounded, hears the distant but unmistakable rhythm of hooves drawing closer. As the sound nears, he recognizes Ginger’s pace attached to a dog-cart, a glimmer of hope sparking in the darkness. Beauty, though weakened and sore, lets out a soft neigh. To his relief, Ginger responds, followed by the urgent voices of men. They arrive at the scene to find Reuben lying on the ground, cold and lifeless. His head is bloodied, and there is no sign of breath or movement. The chill in his limbs and the stillness of his form confirm what no one wishes to say aloud—Reuben is dead. His fall had been sudden and violent, the result of a misstep likely caused by Beauty’s stumble.

As they assess the situation, the men note Beauty’s damaged hoof and his own bruised body. The missing shoe and scuffed knees suggest a fall occurred during the drive. Whispers begin about Reuben’s state before the ride. Though known as a steady man, it’s hinted that he may have been drinking. A few remember Susan’s worried expression earlier that evening—her pale face and anxious voice perhaps a sign that she feared for her husband’s condition. No one speaks too harshly, but the truth lingers in the silence: this could have been avoided. The weight of responsibility settles over them as they make preparations to return. Robert, the young groom, takes the lead, gently guiding Beauty home despite the horse’s clear pain. Ned, meanwhile, is given the grim duty of escorting Reuben’s body, a somber passenger in the cart once meant for daily travel.

The journey back is slow and careful. Beauty, limping and sore, presses on with quiet determination, while Ginger, surprisingly calm, walks beside him without fuss. Robert speaks gently to the horses, soothing them with his presence, even as grief weighs heavy in the air. When they reach the stable, Robert doesn’t wait for orders. He tends to Beauty’s injuries using what supplies he can find—saltwater, cloth, and cool rags. His actions are simple but full of care, reflecting the bond between human and horse in its truest form. Beauty, though aching, senses the kindness. He stands still, trusting the boy’s touch. The pain, though sharp, is eased by the calmness in Robert’s voice and the steadiness of his hands.

Over the following days, the severity of Black Beauty’s injuries becomes clear. The fall left him with deep scrapes and soreness that would take weeks to mend. Despite Robert’s efforts and the farrier’s attention, the scars would never fully fade. His once-glossy knees now bore patches of rough, discolored skin—a reminder of that terrible night. The stable, once filled with routine, now carried a heaviness that didn’t lift. Reuben’s absence was felt in every corner. Susan grieved quietly, her face drawn and silent. The others avoided long conversations, unsure what words could soften such a blow. At the inquest, it was confirmed: Reuben had been drinking. Witnesses described his unusual mood and the scent on his breath. The lost shoe from Beauty’s hoof, found near the scene, supported the theory of a stumble made worse by unsteady handling.

What lingers most in this chapter isn’t just the accident, but the quiet ripple of its consequences. Reuben, once reliable, made one poor decision with devastating results. Beauty, who trusted his rider, bore both the physical pain and the lasting marks of that night. Yet even in tragedy, there is care—Robert’s gentle tending, Ginger’s unspoken support, and the community’s subdued response all show how deeply intertwined the lives of humans and horses can be. This chapter becomes a meditation on responsibility, both for oneself and for the creatures placed in one’s care. A moment’s recklessness can leave a permanent imprint—not only on the body, but on the heart. Through Beauty’s eyes, readers witness not just loss, but the quiet strength it takes to recover.