One breezy afternoon in mid-July, Mike Potter's phone started making all kinds of noise. “It goes, beep, beep, beep, beep!” shouted the Ridgway rancher, brandishing his flip phone from the pocket of his mud-stained jeans. “And boy,” he added, “I started doing this,” fingers massaging his temples and running through his hair. Two weeks prior, Potter watched from his yard as fire raced toward the Ci...