Part II: Frannie Morris’ ride becomes part of Old West legend

As we ended our story last week, it was March of 1907. Just as spring began creeping back across the sagebrush and rough fields surrounding Frannie, Wyoming, on the border of Montana and the Crow Indian Reservation, 20-year-old Frannie Morris slipped away in the middle of the night.

She rode out on horseback with little more than her wits, her best horse and the riding skills that had once drawn the attention of none other than Buffalo Bill Cody and his famous Wild West show.

Whenever Buffalo Bill visited Jack Morris at the family ranch near town, the legendary showman never missed a chance to extend the same invitation. Frannie, he insisted, belonged in the arena. With her natural riding ability and fearless reputation, Cody believed she could travel with the Wild West show across America and even Europe. It would pay well, and she would see far more of the world than the Big Horn Basin.

But Jack Morris always refused.

Cody left disappointed each time, and Frannie remained close to home.

By 1907, when Robert McFarland caught her eye and was promptly run out of town by her father, Jack believed he understood what might happen next.

So, when Frannie disappeared into the night, the search began immediately.

Telephone lines that followed the railroad north and south rang with the news that Frannie Morris was missing. Ranchers, railroad men and towns along the line were asked to watch for her.

Those same telephone lines carried the story to police stations and newspaper offices across the country.

Within days, the disappearance of 20-year-old Frannie Morris had captured the imagination of the American press. Newspapers eagerly compared the spirited young rider to Calamity Jane while reminding readers that she was also the daughter of one of the region’s most prominent cattlemen.

For three weeks, the nation followed the story of the missing Wyoming cowgirl.

As the days passed, newspapers from both coasts made the young rider more mysterious with each retelling. Reporters described her as pretty, cultured, skillful, graceful, playful, plucky, handsome, wealthy, nervy, dashing, beautiful and fiercely independent. She was portrayed as determined, courageous, fearless, adventurous and a rider who could handle both horse and rifle like an expert.

One newspaper, the Fergus County Democrat, reported that she had ridden away with the man she loved. Other papers filled their headlines with words like tryst, affair, lovers and romance.

It was only after she arrived safely in Lewistown, Montana, that her story circulated more widely. According to her own account, Frannie claimed to have ridden more than 700 miles. Her route supposedly took her across Wyoming, into South Dakota and North Dakota, then back west across Montana before reaching Lewistown.

Today, using modern highways, the distance between the two points is only about 200 miles. Whether Frannie truly rode 700 miles in three weeks is difficult to verify. Like many Old West stories, the tale likely contains a mixture of truth, exaggeration and legend, the kind best enjoyed with enthusiasm and a healthy dose of skepticism.

According to accounts she later gave to reporters, she traveled mostly by daylight, covering astonishing distances. On the first Sunday of the journey she rode 75 miles. On the final day she pushed even harder, riding nearly 80 miles in what she later called the “home stretch.”

At night she found shelter where she could, often stopping at isolated ranch houses where strangers offered her a place to sleep.

The ride was dangerous even for an experienced rider.

She said snow had fallen in Bridger Pass, with drifts deep enough to challenge any horseman. Picking her way through the pass alone required patience and nerve, but Frannie pressed on.

One afternoon she stopped to eat lunch and had just dismounted when danger appeared.

A large bear suddenly emerged nearby.

Her horse panicked, struggling against the reins. Frannie managed to regain the saddle before the animal could bolt. Once mounted she felt safer, raised the rifle she carried and fired at the bear.

She hit it.

There was no time to see whether the shot was fatal. She spurred her horse forward and continued down the trail, leaving somewhere in the mountains a bear that likely carried a Wyoming bullet for the rest of its life.

After nearly three weeks on the trail and hundreds of miles in the saddle, Frannie Morris finally rode into Lewistown.

Robert McFarland was waiting. They had arranged ahead of time that he would take the train to Lewistown and wait for her there. Because she could not find enough money for train fare herself, she made the journey on horseback.

Without her father there to object, the two were married within hours of her arrival.

For a few days the newlyweds remained in Lewistown before starting back toward Wyoming. But the adventure was not quite over.

Apparently, after hearing the sensational news and learning of her safe arrival, Frannie’s father, Jack Morris, agreed to consent to the marriage. The new McFarland couple decided to return to Frannie by horseback, retracing some of the path she had taken.

Unfortunately, Robert was not nearly the horseman his new bride was. As they were riding near a brewery just outside town, McFarland’s horse suddenly became unmanageable and threw him violently to the ground. The fall broke his hip badly and dislocated his shoulder. He had to be taken back into town and admitted to the hospital.

For several weeks Frannie stayed by his side, helping him recover enough so they could return home to Wyoming and begin their new life together.

But, as the story goes, that time spent together in the hospital room began to change her mind.

Sometimes time together does great things for a marriage. This time it didn’t.

When he finally recovered enough to take the train back to Wyoming, the train made a stop in Frannie. As she prepared to step off, she apparently told him not to follow her.

When he protested, she gave him a single piece of advice.

“Git.”

For the next 30 years, Frannie and her father lived on the Morris Ranch outside of town. During those years she married two more times and eventually had three children.

By 1932, when Jack Morris was well past 80 years old, they were forced to sell most of the ranch to pay off their debts.

In the meantime, the small settlement of Frannie had grown into a town of nearly 300 people. It now boasted two mercantile stores, a bank, an auto dealership and an auto repair shop. There was a drugstore, a full-time “physician and surgeon,” a lumber yard and a hardware store. The town also had a dairy, a barber shop and even a commercial club and theater.

Things had come a long way since the days when the Morris Ranch was the only stopping place on the wagon road between Lander and Billings.

After Jack Morris died in 1935, Frannie finally had the freedom to leave the ranch and begin the next chapter of her life.

She eventually moved north to Montana, where she spent the final 40 years of her life quietly and happily.

When she died in a Flathead County nursing home in Kalispell, she had been married to Russell Ford for 50 years.

No more running away. No more hurried marriages.

In this case, it seems fair to say she finally found her true love — and lived happily ever after.