Chris Whitney grabbed a pair of worn leather gloves from his back pocket, pulled them on with his teeth and stoked the campfire and the red-hot branding irons which read Lazy T Reverse F. The young calves were restless and noisy.  Whitney looked across the Uncompaghre Valley at the towering snow-capped peaks of the Cimarrons and San Juans.  It would be his last spring roundup at his family’s ranch in Ridgway, Colorado, before he left for college at the University of Colorado.   Armed with a master’s degree, and a commission as an Air Force lieutenant, he was assigned, in 1968, to an intelligence...