The Coast of Adventure by Harold Bindloss

The sun hung low in the western sky, with a peak of the black cordillera cutting its lower edge, and Rio Frio shone in the glaring light. Seen from the road across the valley, the town had an ethereal look, for the tiers of square, white houses rose from a gulf of shadow and clustered upon the hillside, glimmering with a pearly luster, picked out by clumps of green. Behind were barren slopes, deepening in color to dusky purple as they ran back to the foot of the mountain wall.

Walthew pulled up his mule and sat gazing at the town. He had been riding beside Blanca, while Father Agustin and two others followed at some distance.