Basin City, Otto, Cody and the 1896 battle to control the Big Horn Basin

by John Bernhisel

Big Horn County was a far different place in 1895 than it is today. It stood on the edge of the American frontier, one of the last largely unsettled regions in the country. The broad basin that now supports farms, towns and highways was then mostly open range. There was little irrigation to tame the rivers, few established farming communities and only scattered pockets of settlement.

What did exist was potential, and plenty of ambition.

In 1895, before there was really a functioning Big Horn County, there was already a fight over where its heart would be. The county had technically been created in 1890, carved from portions of Johnson, Sheridan and Fremont counties, but it remained unorganized for years. Its boundaries covered what is now Big Horn, Park, Hot Springs and Washakie counties, about 14,375 square miles, slightly larger than the state of Maryland.

Access to a county seat was essential. Residents needed a place to record land deeds, obtain marriage licenses, conduct elections and seek justice through the courts. A sheriff’s office and jail provided law enforcement in a region where distance alone could invite disorder. Without those institutions, governing such a vast area was nearly impossible.

By 1896, that was about to change.

Governor William A. Richards, himself a former basin resident and canal builder, told the Wyoming Legislature that the Big Horn Basin was growing and that existing county seats were simply too far away. A special census was ordered, thresholds were met and an election was scheduled for November 1896 to organize the county, select officers and choose a county seat.

Almost immediately, communities recognized what was at stake.

Whoever secured the county seat would secure the future.

What followed was more than a political contest. It was a collision of ambition, geography and ego on the frontier.

At first, Otto appeared to be the clear favorite.

Named for Prussian-born Otto Franc, whose family had made a fortune importing bananas from Colombia, the town was the largest and fastest-growing community in the basin. It was centrally located and already functioning as a regional hub. It also had something few others did: a strong media presence.

Lou Blakesley’s Otto Courier had been in operation for years, and Thomas Daggett’s Rustler had recently relocated there from the fading town of Bonanza. Together, the two papers formed a coordinated campaign that would not have been out of place in a much larger city.

Supporters pointed to Otto’s “centrality of location, accessibility and beauty,” calling it “the most beautiful spot in the picturesque Big Horn Basin.”

The stakes were obvious.

“The contest is waxing fast and furious,” one report noted, “and is the all-absorbing topic among the residents of the new county.”

Across the basin, another town emerged almost overnight.

Basin City, virtually unknown before the contest began, quickly became a serious contender thanks to the ambition of promoter W. S. Collins, a frontier lawyer. He persuaded Joe Magill, a cowboy from Embar, to serve as spokesman for the campaign.

Collins, was also a surveyor and entrepreneur, had already tried his hand at town-building elsewhere in the basin. Once a supporter of Otto, he left after a failed land deal and set out to build a rival city.

He chose a sagebrush-covered bluff west of the Big Horn River, filed for a townsite and went to work.

Lacking a newspaper at first, Basin City supporters quickly corrected that disadvantage. The Paint Rock Record was moved from Hyattville, renamed the Basin City Herald and launched into a full-throated campaign.

“We entertain no misgivings,” the paper declared. “In the battle for the county seat the paper will use every endeavor to promote the candidacy of Basin City.”

“We shall not stoop to falsehoods or misrepresentations… No cowardly attacks on private individuals will befoul its columns.”

Yet in its first edition it stretched the truth, claiming, “Basin City has no rival, over one hundred lots already filled… Substantial buildings are springing up as if by magic.”  At the time it was little more than some log homes and tents.

The campaign quickly turned into a war of words.

“A low lived, brainless coward, biggest lying coward that ever breathed the breath of life, half witted cur, brainless pup, skunk and poor fool.”

A contemporary observer dryly responded, “Behold how good and joyful a thing it is to see brethren dwell together in amity.”

Yet alongside the insults came something else: belief.

The Basin City Herald painted its town in sweeping language, describing “a glorious expanse of stately old trees” and a setting framed by mountains. It was boosterism, but also faith in a future that did not yet exist.

Beneath the rhetoric, the stakes were real.

The new county had a population of roughly 1,300 people, divided by the Big Horn River. About 550 lived on the east side and 750 on the west. Distance and accessibility mattered in a place where travel could take days or even weeks.

Only a handful of communities had populations exceeding 100, including Burlington, Redbank, Shell, Hyattville, Otto, Fenton, Bonanza, Thermopolis, Ten Sleep and Meeteetse. Most were not towns in the modern sense, but loose collections of ranchers and farmers.

Even in a presidential election year, with McKinley facing Bryan, “political affairs are being subverted to the county seat question.”

Nothing else mattered.

Collins understood the numbers. He believed Basin City could dominate east-side votes, where it was closer and easier to reach, while Otto would carry the west. The election, he concluded, would be close.

Local historian Gerrald George says, “Collins also counted votes.   He knew most of the folks east of the Big Horn River would prefer Basin City to Otto—it was ten miles closer and didn’t require the crossing of the Greybull River.   Collins also knew that anyone west of the Big Horn River would probably vote for Otto, because it was closer.   He estimated the election to be a toss-up, and set to work to figure out a way to sweeten his odds of success.  “

A third player enters

For much of the campaign, the contest appeared to be between Otto and Basin City.

Then, just before the election, a third name entered: Cody.

The town had barely been established. It was platted only weeks before the vote, and a post office was rushed into place in time for ballots. Behind the effort was William F. “Buffalo Bill” Cody, whose vision extended far beyond the election.

Cody envisioned a community built from the ground up, supported by irrigation from the Shoshone River, transforming open range into productive farmland. It was a bold undertaking, fitting for a man known for grand ambitions.

Few expected the town itself to win, but Cody’s partner, George T. Beck, pledged $5,000 for a townsite and buildings. Newspapers took notice. The Oregonian called it “Cody’s promised land.” The Boston Globe described it as “Buffalo Bill’s Eden.”

By entering late, Cody split the vote, particularly among settlers who might otherwise have supported Otto.

As noted by Charles Lindsay in his 1930 history The Big Horn Basin, the entrance of Cody into the contest came late and with little expectation of outright victory, but with significant consequence. What had appeared to be a contest between two ambitious and well-financed figures, Otto Franc and Buffalo Bill Cody, quickly shifted. 

The addition of a third candidate drew votes, particularly among settlers in the Burlington area, and in doing so undermined Otto’s chances. 

What had been a two-way contest shifted overnight.

When the votes were counted, Basin City emerged as the winner.

It received 469 votes to Otto’s 430, with Cody drawing 238.

Otto’s supporters cried foul. One paper complained, “When men can be bought for a drink of whisky… it is no wonder that the country is going to the dogs.”

The outcome stunned many. Otto had entered as the clear favorite, with infrastructure and backing. Basin City was little more than a handful of buildings on open prairie, “a town consisting of a few people living in dugouts and tents.”

Yet it had won.

Within a short time, Otto lost both of its newspapers. The Rustler moved to the new county seat, and the Courier relocated to Meeteetse. Its momentum faded, and the town slipped into relative obscurity.

Basin City, meanwhile, became the county seat and soon simply Basin.

By 1911, the once-sprawling Big Horn County had been divided into four. Cody became the seat of Park County, Thermopolis of Hot Springs County and Worland of Washakie County. Otto, once the basin’s leading contender, was almost gone.

Looking back, the 1896 county seat battle might seem like a small, local contest.

It revealed the ambitions of a growing region, the importance of geography in a vast landscape and the outsized role of newspapers in shaping public opinion on the frontier.

It also revealed something deeper: belief.

Whether promoting “the most beautiful spot in the picturesque Big Horn Basin” or imagining a town built from nothing, those involved believed they were shaping the future.

For a brief, intense moment in 1896, that future was argued in ink, fought with words and felt by nearly everyone in the basin.

Today, travelers pass quietly through Basin without realizing it was once the center of one of the most fiercely contested political battles in Wyoming history.