My Life with Bonnie and Clyde (25 page)

My eyes hurt a lot. I had to put drops in them every few minutes. They felt so dry and were quite swollen. Both of my eyes were still full of fine, shattered glass and there was a large piece of glass stuck in one of the pupils. Both Clyde and Bonnie had tried to get it out with tweezers, but the tweezers kept slipping off. They couldn’t get enough of a grip on it to pull it out. I was also pretty weak from loss of blood.

That night all of us felt jittery. Everything got on our nerves. Whippoor-wills called and a screech owl kept coming in close to the car, hollering. I could have screamed from hearing it. But we were afraid to shoot it because someone may have come to investigate. Clyde tried to frighten it away but it always came back. I felt as if someone was slowly creeping up on us. I think the others felt the same way. Every time we heard a twig break or the leaves rustle, they would grab a gun. Finally, they went to sleep.

The rest of that night is too hard for me to describe. I can’t find words to express the horror of it, although it wasn’t much different from any other night after Buck was shot.

Clyde said we would start driving early the next morning. When he and W. D. woke up and got out of the car to roast some weenies left over from the night before, I lay down beside Buck with my head close to his heart and his arms holding me tight. I fell asleep for a few minutes. Then Buck moved to grab a pistol. He was talking about seeing soldiers all around us. He had the gun in his hand when I awoke. He also had W. D.’s billfold in his hand. He had taken it from W. D.’s hip pocket while he lying between the two seats.

“Baby,” he said, handing me the billfold. “See what I taken from one of the soldiers that was laying here? He’s drunk and I got his money!”

I looked around but could see no one but W. D. and Clyde. I knew then that Buck was feeling worse and that he didn’t know what he was saying.
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I felt his pulse. It was so weak I couldn’t find it. As I started to listen to Buck’s heart I heard Clyde suddenly say, “Look out!” Then he and W. D. rushed for the car, grabbed guns, and started shooting. A hail of lead hit the car.
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Glass broke. I rolled Buck over, onto the cushion between the seats, and threw my body over his to protect him from the glass and lead. I heard W. D. say, “Clyde! I’m shot! I can’t fight any longer!” I looked his way and saw blood streaming down his face. He was close, beside the car.
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“I’m shot too,” Clyde answered. “But we gotta keep fighting.”
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I heard Clyde curse one of the officers and say, “I’ll get you for that!”
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Then he and W. D. got in the car and tried to get away. Clyde said he couldn’t drive to the highway, in the direction we’d come from, so he started backing down a hill. He backed into a ditch and got the motor hung on a tree stump. He couldn’t pull out.

“Let’s run,” Bonnie said. Clyde told her she couldn’t run, but she said she could.

“Let’s go!” Clyde said.

I got Buck out of the car, but he wanted his shoes. So I put them on and tied them. I had already slipped my boots on. They were full of glass, but I didn’t take the time to pull them off and get it out.

“Come on!” Clyde shouted. They were about ten feet away from the car.

I got my arm around Buck’s waist and tried to follow, but when we were about twenty feet up the hill Buck fainted. I couldn’t hold him up alone. He was dead weight. We both fell to the ground. Clyde, W. D., and Bonnie were still running and shooting.
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They saw Buck faint and pull me down. I called to Clyde, but they didn’t stop. I worked with Buck, trying to bring him to. When he did come to, he spoke.

Part of the posse at the outlaws’ camp. Left to right: Al Gardner, who guided the group; John Drake, Sutherland city marshal; Colonel Fred Hird, U.S. marshal; and Polk County deputy sheriffs Jake Gesell, Carl Abolt, and Harold Gesell. “I heard Clyde curse one of the officers and say, ‘I’ll get you for that!’” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)

“Baby,” he said. “Leave me. You can get away alone. I am too tired to go on.”

I got him to sit up so he could lean on me. I told him I wouldn’t leave him, ever. We would both die together if I couldn’t get him away. The only way I would ever leave him would be for the officers to take me away from him. And only for his sake would I give up alive.

“Baby,” he said. “Please go. I love you too much to let you get killed because of me. And don’t commit suicide.”

“Daddy,” I said. “I don’t think you have to worry about me doing that. They will do it for me, because I’m not leaving you.”

While I was letting him rest I emptied the glass out of my boots. My feet were already cut and bleeding. Then I helped Buck get up, putting both
of his arms around my neck and my arm around his waist. I had to go slowly with him, almost dragging him. I had to hold onto trees to keep us both from falling down the hill, it was so steep.
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We could only go short distances, and then he would have to sit down. He didn’t seem conscious half the time.

Dexfield Park, Iowa, 1933; scale: 1 in = ¼ mi. Based on maps drawn by eyewitness Marvelle Feller.

When we got over the hill I had to let him rest because he was about to faint again. While we were stopped, I lit a cigarette for both of us. Buck joked about who could run fastest to the bottom of the hill. He bet me a quarter he could beat me. I suppose he was thinking of the many times we
had foot races and would bet on who was the fastest. Sometimes I lost those races. He could run fast when he was feeling well.
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Now he was betting he could outrun me when he couldn’t even walk. He was so game about the danger we were in. I really don’t think he understood.

I could hear Clyde shouting and talking but I didn’t expect any help from him. I knew we were on our own.
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I thought maybe I could get Buck away, but I had to feel my way almost to the foot of the hill where a dry creek bed lay. I had to stop again and I couldn’t find anything to protect us. Buck kept begging me to leave him, but I kept on trying to get him a few steps farther.

After awhile we came to a clearing.
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It seemed like we had covered at least a mile, over hills and rocky cliffs, but I am sure it wasn’t that far, perhaps half-a-mile, if that. From the edge of the clearing, I wondered how I would ever get across such an open space and up the rise. I decided to try it.

Buck was about to pass out again. I saw a big log with a stump behind it. I thought I could sit down on the stump and let Buck lie down and rest a few minutes. We’d both be hidden behind the log. When we got to the log Buck fell, pulling me down with him. He was so weak he couldn’t go any farther. He still had the same gun he was holding earlier, when he woke me up talking about soldiers. I doubted if he could use it. I tried to get it away from him, but he held on to it. He hadn’t fired a shot since Platte City.

I sat down and put his head and shoulders in my lap. When Buck came to, he wanted water. I was very thirsty myself, and weak. I just had to force myself to go on. But I was afraid to leave him and try to get water from the river; afraid I couldn’t get back to him. He told me not to let anyone slip up on us, that he was going to sleep.

I don’t know how long we stayed there but Buck was cold and wet from the early morning dew, which was like a light rain. I was cold too. I only had on a thin silk knit blouse. We had used my skirt for bandages. Everything was covered in blood. I sat there until my feet and legs seemed paralyzed from the weight of Buck’s head and shoulders. Then I heard someone walking.
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“There they are!” someone shouted.

I somehow pushed Buck between myself and the log. I was still trying to protect him from more bullets. By then it looked as if nearly thirty men were shouting at the sight of us. Buck came to, rolled on his stomach, and tried to shoot. I can’t say if he fired any shots. But he was shot. I have no idea how he was shot without me being hit as well. But not one bullet touched
me. At times, though, it seemed as if the log in front of us was being cut with a saw instead of bullets from machine guns, rifles, and shotguns.

When Buck was hit, he threw his body over mine and held me tight in his arms.

“Baby,” he said. “They got me this time.” Then his body relaxed. I thought he was dead. I just went mad, screaming and begging them to stop. I couldn’t stand having more bullets fired into his body. I thought, “If one would only hit me and kill me instantly.”

They told me to get up and have Buck get up too. But I shouted that he couldn’t get up, that they’d killed him. I put my hands up, above the log. The shooting stopped for a second. Buck moved. I was so happy to know he was still alive. I lowered my hands and grabbed him.

“Baby,” he said. “Don’t get up. They will kill you!”

The shooting started again as we lay there, holding each other tight, murmuring to each other, “I love you, no matter what happens. I will always love you.”

Suddenly, the thought that I should somehow get Buck to a hospital crossed my mind. At least that way he could die in a nice clean bed. By then, I felt sure he would die. He couldn’t survive this last shock, being shot again. And I couldn’t stand to see more shots fired into his precious body. I couldn’t bear to see him torn to shreds before my very eyes when I might be able to save him yet. I didn’t think they would let me go with Buck to the hospital and stay with him until he died, that is, if I survived. He had nothing to live for. If Buck were captured, and lived, he would be sentenced to death anyway. That would be worse than being killed outright. He was so near death. I didn’t think about what might happen to me, nor did I care. Life without Buck would be worse than death to me.

“Daddy,” I said. “I am going to give us up so you can go to a hospital. I can’t bear to see them tear you to pieces with bullets. You can be in a clean bed.”

“Don’t get up, Baby,” Buck said. “They will kill you.”

“I don’t care, Daddy,” I said. “I want to go with you anyway.”

“I may as well get one or two of them before I die,” he said.
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“No, Daddy!” I said. “No! There may still be a chance and I love you so. Don’t do it for me! Don’t kill anyone else. They’ve got us anyway. Don’t, because they will finish you if you try to do that and I can’t stand to see them do that to you. We may have a chance to get out of it yet.”

Buck told me to get up and then he dropped his gun. Again we locked ourselves in each other’s arms. Then I spoke my last words to Buck.

Blanche Barrow at the time of her capture. “Then I was lifted by two men and taken away from Buck.” (From the Blanche Caldwell Barrow scrapbooks, courtesy of Rhea Leen Linder)

“Daddy, whatever they do to me, I will always love you.”

If the officers had put a bullet through my heart, it wouldn’t have hurt any more than leaving to give up. The law would have done us a favor if they had put bullets through both our hearts at the same time.

It would have saved a lot of pain and sorrow. But they didn’t. I kissed Buck goodbye.

The posse was still shooting at us. Then they stopped and I stood up with my hands raised, screaming and crying.
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I tried to keep between them and Buck but they made me step to one side. They grabbed me. I told them Buck was dying and asked them not shoot him anymore. They went to him. I tried to get back to him. I begged them to lift him carefully and not to hurt him anymore. They wouldn’t let me touch him or help with him. I was still screaming and fighting to get to him. When they got him to a car and let him down beside it, I pleaded, fought, and screamed to get to him. Two officers were holding me. Finally, one of them was kind enough to tell the other one to let me go to Buck. I went to him, knelt down beside him, and kissed him.
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