Of all the "Indian figures" in the history of film, the most widely known is Tonto. So, "come with me now to those thrilling days of yesteryear," as we tune in to the familiar strains of the William Tell overture, which signal that the daring and resourceful masked rider of the Plains and his faithful "Indian" companion Tonto are just one commercial away from the night's adventure.

Today, the Lone Ranger and Tonto seem mythic, ageless—part of a feudal past. In truth, they go back only to radio's pioneer days, having premiered on Detroit's WXYZ on January 30, 1933, and lasted on radio until 1954, with another 180 episodes on television, and rebirth in a couple of feature-length films.

Tonto is the very model of the screen's faithful "Indian" companion, smarter than Steppin' Fetchit and almost as clever as Charlie Chan without being inclined to spout so much ancient wisdom. Faithful companions, like other ethnic stereotypes, come in all shapes and sizes. Tonto represents the Native American as a good and noble helper, descendant of the cornbearing Red Man in grade-school Thanksgiving pageants. There are others—where would Red Ryder be without Little Beaver? Or Pa Kettle without the faithful Crowbar and Geoduck?

Tonto was everything that the white man had always wanted the Indian to be. He was a little slower, a little dumber, had much less vocabulary, and rode a darker horse.

Somehow Tonto was always there. Like the Negro butler and the Oriental gardener. Tonto represented a silent, subservient subspecies of Anglo-Saxon whose duty was to do the bidding of the all-wise white hero.

To soften invasion narratives, conquerors often highlighted the stories of natives who helped them. Americans might call these "Tonto figures" after the Lone Ranger's famous sidekick—the archetypal "good Indian," always ready to help track down the "bad Indians" and outlaws who menaced whites on the frontier.

Our national culture particularly heroifies the first two "good Indians," Pocahontas in Virginia and Squanto in Massachusetts, who became famous foundation figures in our origin myths. Some newcomers inherit directly through Pocahontas, who married John Rolfe and had many descendants. Squanto had no European progeny, but his friendship and assistance led to the first Thanksgiving, our national origin banquet. As translator, ambassador, and technical advisor, Squanto was essential to the survival of Plymouth in its first two years. William Bradford called Squanto "a special instrument sent of God for their good beyond their expectation." Not only were Squanto and Massasoit [another "good Indian"] on the European Americans' side; so by implication to men like Bradford was God.

Tonto figures still play an important ideological role in explaining and excusing the elimination of Native peoples. When European Americans honor "good Indians" by putting up their statues or marking their homes, they are trying to define themselves as "good white people." Whites deserve the country, goes the implicit argument. Look—here are the good Indians who welcomed us to it and helped us take it.

After the Indian wars, Sacagawea and other "good Indians" ironically became symbols of the rightness of manifest destiny and white displacement of the Indians. Here was an enlightened Indian maiden, the thinking seems to have been, who recognized the superiority of the white race and the inevitability of subduing the west. That this unusually perceptive Indian helped achieve that goal just goes to show that the conquest of the west was best for the Indians too, even if they didn't know it yet. This racist line of thinking is no longer emphasized, but it did play a part in the late nineteenth to early twentieth century lionization of "good Indians" like Sacagawea, Pocahontas, Squanto, and Massasoit.