Louis, until Napoleon, with his tremendous energy appeared to change the maps of the world, the population of the city was largely French, and the voyageurs who allied with trapping, hunting and exploring expeditions, were largely of French extraction. Readers will note the preponderance of French names appearing in these stories. St. Genevieve, near St. Louis, was formerly one of the points much connected with this particular territory. Many of these buoyant, laughing, singing, industrious people, had to do with the taming of the wilderness about us.

Partizans, as the leaders of trapping expeditions were called, found that French-Creoles were much better men for the routine camp work, and for knowing the habits of wild game. But when it came to time of privation, stress, or danger, one Kentucky rifleman was worth several of them. Under such conditions almost invariably, the French voyager would revert quickly to animal type, with sly and brutish instincts. Trappers had reason to believe that in many cases of hunger, they had resorted to cannibalism, perhaps casting lots to see who should be the victim.

Among the people from St. Genevieve, in 1836, came one by the name of Basil Robideaux. This was not the Robideaux who formed a partnership with Papin, Chouteau and Berthold in 1819, or who built the posts at Rattlesnake Bluffs (now St. Joseph, Missouri) or on the Gunnison, or on the Unitah, but a humble kinsman, of a later generation.

For a number of years, Basil Robideaux led a hard life in the wilderness. He had the smallpox in 1838 which swept with such virulence over the plains, and depopulated Indian tribes. And at this time, the instinct of self preservation caused his compaions to desert him, as they thought, to die. This was on the south bank of the river, a few miles east of Scotts Bluff mountain.