It started when he walked to the campfire. They all left him alone. He studied the flaming oak, stirring with a stick, trusting his sense of smell more than his eyes. Took a small cast-iron skillet from his saddlebag. Pulled a sack out which he handled like gold. Poured out pale green beans he bought in New Orleans. As he roasted, the beans first smelled grassy, but the air soon filled with crispy pear, dark chocolate, and then, a sweet caramel, drawing all to the fire.