The rich meat smell made his stomach growl and his mouth water. He gagged, dry-heaving convulsions that would have sent the contents of his stomach flying to coat his cell, if he still had any stomach contents. They hadn't given him water for a day, and the slow smoky fire underneath him made him cough and dried out his nostrils. Slow-smoking him while he was still alive, they were. He'd have thought he had a better chance of escaping if they had simply planned to tie him to a tree until they could build a fire to roast him. Actual techniques for preparing their meat implied that they'd had a lot of time and practice to build up a cuisine, and that meant that nobody had gotten away yet. Still, eventually the town would miss its sheriff.

Inspiration: Smelling somebody else's lunch.
Potential: Low. Nothing new here.
Notes>: Heh. Small town America, now with cannibals!