Frank Canton was not born Frank Canton. He was created from the wreckage of another man’s life. That man was Joe Horner, a Texas outlaw and escaped convict who spent his early years running from the law before reinventing himself as one of the most effective lawmen the American frontier ever produced.
Horner was born Josiah Horner in Henry County, Indiana, on September 15, 1849. He was the fifth of nine children. His family moved frequently, settling in Missouri just before the Civil War. His father and older brother enlisted with the Confederacy, but the 14-year-old Joe ran away from home in 1864 and attempted to join the Union Army. He was too young, but an uncle on his mother’s side secured him a position as an unofficial orderly, caring for horses and cleaning guns. He never saw combat.
After the war, Horner worked as a teamster out of Fort Leavenworth. A story persists that he killed his first man at age 15, smashing a boss’s head in with a neck yoke during an argument. He was reportedly tried before a military tribunal and acquitted. The details are murky, but the pattern was set.
By the late 1860s, Horner had moved to Texas with his family. He worked as a cowboy in Jack County, participating in cattle drives to Kansas railheads. One drive in 1868 was plagued by bad luck. The crew swam cattle across a swollen Red River, refused to pay tribute to an Osage war party, and lost their chuck wagon and most of their horses to raids. Horner and his fellow cowboys walked the rest of the way to Abilene, leaving their feet bloody.
Horner developed a taste for liquor and women during his time in the cattle towns. He also invested in a Winchester rifle. By the early 1870s, he had partnered with a friend named William Cottam to run a small ranch in Jack County. They secured a contract to supply beef to Fort Richardson. But Horner was already supplementing his income through less honest means.
He and Cottam formed a gang that became suspects in a series of livestock thefts. In 1874, a safe was stolen from the Jacksboro post office. A former pig farmer turned Army scout named Henry Strong lost over $1,000 in the heist. Strong suspected the Horner-Cottam gang, and his intuition proved correct when a gang member was caught passing marked bills from the stolen safe.
Strong set out with an inexperienced deputy marshal to arrest the suspect. A scuffle broke out, and the deputy, after wrenching a pistol away from the fleeing suspect, inexplicably threw the loaded gun back at him. The suspect picked it up and opened fire. Strong killed him. The dead man had friends, including Joe Horner. Several attempts were made on Strong’s life in the following months, all unsuccessful.
Horner’s behavior grew bolder. He was arrested for aggravated assault after pistol-whipping a man in a saloon. He was indicted on two counts of cattle theft. Then, on October 10, 1874, he got into a shooting fight with the United States Army.
According to Horner’s version of events, he was accosted by Black soldiers from the 10th Cavalry who demanded he buy them drinks. He refused, words were exchanged, and a fight broke out. Horner shot one soldier in a saloon, then engaged in a running gun battle with a detachment of Buffalo Soldiers in the streets of Jacksboro. He emptied his revolvers, had his horse shot out from under him, and escaped on a friend’s horse after the friend was wounded in the thigh. One soldier was killed, shot between the eyes. The Army did not pursue charges.
Racial tensions were high in Jack County. Many locals sided with Horner, viewing the Black soldiers as an occupying force. Horner himself would later write that Black soldiers were “of no benefit to the settlers” and that he never knew one to kill an Indian, though he had known them to kill “some pretty good white men.” Historical records contradict this, showing the 10th Cavalry engaged in numerous fights with Indigenous peoples during their time at Fort Richardson.
By November 1874, Horner faced six indictments. He was arrested and released on bail, but his legal troubles mounted. In September 1875, one of his bond benefactors withdrew his support, and Horner was jailed in Graham, Texas. Four nights later, four men busted him out, cutting telegraph lines as they fled town.
Horner was now a wanted man. In January 1876, his gang robbed a bank in Comanche, Texas. Henry Strong, still on the gang’s trail, tracked them and identified the robbers. Horner was arrested in San Antonio in February 1876. He and his brother George spent over a year in the city’s old jail, known as the “Batcave” for the thousands of bats that roosted between the roof and the canvas ceiling.
In March 1877, Horner was tried for the bank robbery. The jury deliberated for 25 minutes before sentencing him to ten years of hard labor. Two weeks later, he escaped again, sawing through the plank lining of his cell and tunneling into the stone wall. He and three cellmates squeezed through the opening, leaving a fourth man behind after promising to haul him up with a makeshift rope.
Horner’s freedom lasted 16 days. He held up a stagecoach east of Eagle Pass, was recaptured after a brief gunfight, and received an additional ten years. He was delivered to Huntsville State Penitentiary on May 5, 1877, as inmate number 5920. He served just under 15 months before escaping on August 4, 1879. He was never seen again as Joe Horner.
The man who emerged from that escape called himself Frank M. Canton. The “M” stood for Melvin, according to his widow. Canton claimed he left Texas because it was “too quiet” and he wanted to try the Northwest Territory. In reality, he was fleeing a life sentence.
By 1880, Canton was working as a cowboy in Colorado. He drove herds north to Wyoming and made friends among the powerful cattle barons who dominated the region. These men belonged to the Wyoming Stock Growers Association, a quasi-governmental organization that controlled vast domains and wielded immense political power. They could blacklist ranchers, deny brands, and publicly label anyone who opposed them as a rustler.
Canton was drawn to these men. Author Robert DeArment, who wrote extensively on Canton, argued that Canton made a conscious decision to ally himself with the powerful after failing as an outlaw. He would make himself useful to those who wielded power, and in return, they would protect him.
In August 1881, Canton accepted a job as a stock inspector for the association. He was given a commission as deputy sheriff of Johnson County and quickly became sheriff in everything but name. In November 1882, he was officially elected sheriff. He was relentless in pursuing cattle rustlers and horse thieves, sending 16 men to prison in four years. He strengthened the county jail, adding a stockade, handcuffs, shackles, and steel cages. He knew how to build an escape-proof jail because he had broken out of more than one himself.
Canton married 17-year-old Anna May Wilkerson in November 1884. The couple had two daughters, Ruby and Helen. By all accounts, Canton was a devoted family man.
But public opinion in Johnson County turned against the cattle barons and their enforcer. Juries refused to convict accused rustlers, and Canton could not win a third term. When his second term ended in late 1886, he went back to work for the association as a detective.
The Great Blizzard of 1887 devastated the cattle industry, killing up to 90% of open-range cattle. The association cut expenses, and Canton’s detective bureau was dissolved by December 1887. He continued working as an inspector, but his power was waning.
Tensions in Johnson County escalated. In 1889, a rancher named Jim Averell and his companion Ella Watson, known as “Cattle Kate,” were lynched. The pair had legally acquired land and water rights that a powerful rancher named Alan Bothwell wanted. Bothwell was arrested along with five others, but nothing came of it. He acquired the land and prospered for another 38 years.
The killings continued. George B. Henderson, a fellow detective and Canton’s friend, was shot and killed in October 1890. Thomas Waggoner was lynched in 1891. Then came Nate Champion.
Champion was a Texas-born cowboy who had filed on his own ranch in Johnson County and supported a rival association. In November 1891, he claimed he was attacked in his cabin by a group of men, including association detective Joe Elliott. Champion survived, but the attack signaled that the cattle barons were done with legal remedies.
In December 1891, two blacklisted cowboys were murdered. Orley Ranger Jones left Buffalo, Wyoming, with a wagon full of lumber and was never seen alive again. John A. Tisdell, a former foreman for Teddy Roosevelt’s Elk Horn Ranch, was shot and killed as he passed through a gulch. A witness named Charlie Boswell saw a man he believed to be Frank Canton with a revolver in hand, leading Tisdell’s wagon team off the road. Moments later, he heard gunshots.
Canton was arrested and charged with Tisdell’s murder. A hearing was held, but the justice of the peace found insufficient evidence to hold him. Canton, fearing retribution, sent his wife and daughters to Chicago and followed them there. His youngest daughter, Helen, died of diphtheria that winter.
The association hired prominent attorneys to defend Canton. A $30,000 bond was secured, put up by 21 members of the association. Canton returned to Wyoming in the spring of 1892. He came back with an army.
The association had recruited mercenaries from Texas, hiring unemployed federal officers from Paris, Texas. On April 5, 1892, 52 men assembled in Cheyenne. The group included Canton, former association detectives, big ranch owners, and hired guns. They loaded into a private six-car train bound for Casper, where they would continue on horseback.
Their plan was to strike Buffalo, the county seat, and eliminate the so-called rustlers. But on the morning of April 9, they surrounded the KC Ranch, where Nate Champion and another cowboy named Nick Ray were holed up. The invaders opened fire. Ray was killed, but Champion held out for hours, writing a record of the events in a notebook.
The invaders set fire to the cabin. Champion burst out, Winchester in hand, and ran through a hail of bullets. He made it across a meadow before being cut down. The invaders pinned a note to his body that read “Cattle thieves beware.”
The siege had cost them an entire day. The next morning, they advanced on Buffalo, but the town was ready. Word had spread, and nearly 200 armed citizens had gathered. The invaders fell back to the TA Ranch and fortified their position.
A siege ensued. The citizens of Johnson County nearly overran the ranch, but the U.S. Cavalry arrived just in time, ordered to intervene by President Benjamin Harrison. The invaders surrendered to military authority and were taken to Fort Russell near Cheyenne.
None of the invaders faced prosecution. Charges were filed, but no convictions were secured. Canton still faced the murder charge for Tisdell, but the main witness, Charlie Boswell, had left the area. The case was dropped.
Canton’s time in Wyoming was over. He had accidentally shot himself in the ankle while showing off his pistol in Cheyenne, and he was carried into court on a stretcher. He left the state, taking a job as superintendent of a meat packing plant in Nebraska while his legal issues were resolved.
In 1894, Canton moved to Indian Territory, where his old friend Frank Lake had been appointed sheriff of the newly created Q County, later renamed Pawnee County. Canton became undersheriff and was sworn in as a deputy U.S. Marshal. The area was infested with outlaws, and Canton went to work with his usual vigor.
His past, however, remained a threat. Canton was still a wanted fugitive in Texas. He needed a pardon. Through a combination of connections and persuasion, he obtained one from Texas Governor James Stephen Hogg. Canton presented himself as a reformed man, claiming his bank robbery was a youthful indiscretion and that he had only held the horses. He failed to mention his legal troubles in Wyoming. The pardon was granted.
Canton continued his law enforcement career in Oklahoma. He took down the Shelly Brothers, smoked out outlaws with a blazing wagon, and arrested female bandits known as Cattle Annie and Little Britches. He developed a bitter rivalry with the Dunn brothers, associates of the Doolin gang. In November 1896, Canton shot and killed Bill Dunn in the streets of Pawnee. He claimed self-defense and was not charged.
Canton’s career in Oklahoma ended in 1897 when he was fired from the U.S. Marshal service for padding his accounts. He had charged for mileage he didn’t travel and meals for prisoners he never fed. His supervisor tried to protect him, but the termination stood.
Alaska beckoned. Canton arrived in the territory during the Klondike Gold Rush. He spent a miserable winter in Rampart, writing to his family about the hardships and loneliness. He nearly froze to death on a trip to a gold strike. But he survived and became an official “sourdough,” a badge of honor for those who endured an Alaskan winter.
Canton was appointed deputy U.S. Marshal in Alaska. He was the only federal lawman in the interior. He traveled hundreds of miles by dog sled, arresting criminals and escorting gold shipments. But his past caught up with him. The financial irregularities from Oklahoma barred him from ever working for the Marshal service again. He resigned in 1899, claiming snow blindness.
Canton returned to Wyoming to retrieve his family. The citizens of Johnson County still hated him. A 12-year-old boy named Martin Tisdell, whose father Canton was accused of murdering, was given a revolver and instructed to gun Canton down when he arrived. Canton slipped into town on foot, avoiding the ambush. He would later get into a bar fight with a man named Will Foster, who beat him so badly he needed over 60 stitches.
Canton spent the next few years trying to regain a federal commission. He worked as a deputy in Oklahoma and as a stock inspector for the Texas Cattle Raisers Association. In 1907, Oklahoma became a state. Canton ingratiated himself with the campaign of Charles Haskell, the first governor, and became his self-appointed bodyguard. When Haskell won, he surprised everyone by appointing Canton as Oklahoma’s adjutant general.
Canton had no military experience, but he whipped the Oklahoma National Guard into shape. He nearly doubled its size, ordered monthly drills, and secured federal funding. He won first place in a pistol match at Camp Perry in 1908. He even appeared in a silent film with Quanah Parker and his old rivals Heck Thomas and Bill Tilghman.
Under Governor Lee Cruce, Canton used the National Guard to enforce blue laws and prohibition. He stopped prize fights, horse races, and roping competitions. He ignored a court order allowing a horse race in Tulsa and had his men fire over the heads of the jockeys.
Canton’s military career ended in 1916 when Congress enacted the National Defense Act, requiring regular army experience for adjutant generals. He was promoted to major general and asked for his resignation 19 days later.
Canton spent his final years living with his daughter Ruby in Oklahoma. He worked for the Cattle Raisers Association and wrote his memoirs. He died on September 27, 1927, twelve days after his 78th birthday. He was buried with full Masonic and military honors.
His memoirs were published posthumously in 1930 under the title “Frontier Trails.” The book made no mention of his outlaw past. A copy in the Buffalo, Wyoming, public library contains penciled marginal notes from an anonymous reader: “Liar,” “Thief,” “Murderer.” The final summation reads, “This book is a pack of Lies. I hope very few people ever read it. I’m sorry I did.”
Frank Canton was a hard man in a hard time. He was a thief, a killer, and a man who abused his authority. He was also a devoted family man, a fearless lawman, and a relentless pursuer of criminals. He was a complex, contradictory figure, and his story remains one of the most fascinating of the American frontier.