"He..."

He trails off as he considers just how to answer.

"I guess you could say that. Reckon after he got killed, rest of us...ended up bit more sought after than he'd ever been."

(Try a lot more if they're being truthful.)

Jay reaches up to his neck, palm smoothing over his throat, where it lingers. He can feel that phantom scratch of rope again.

"Like I said 'fore, sir...I wasn't gonna make it t'thirty."